


Never Meet Your Heroes

by hey_its_lyn



Series: TimKon Week 2020 [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superboy (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Bruce Wayne's A+ Parenting, Clark Kent Being an Asshole, Clark Kent is a Bad Parent, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Developing Relationship, Except He Never Actually Acted Like One, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Lex Luthor is a Good Parent, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Restraints, Running Away, Sorry Everyone Alfred's Not Nice in this One, Team as Family, TimKon Week 2020, brief non-consensual drug use, for good reasons, it hurts me too, safe houses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 46,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24278113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hey_its_lyn/pseuds/hey_its_lyn
Summary: Tim’s not snooping, not really. Or, he doesn’t mean to be snooping. But then he hears Superman say the words 'Experiment 13' and he's out of the Cave like a bat out of hell. He has just enough time to tell Kon to get the hell out of dodge before Batman finds him, and a furious Batman is not something he wants to face alone.Meanwhile, Kon is totally panicking. He, Cassie, and Bart have lost contact with Robin, have cut themselves off from their mentors, and have absolutely no idea what to do. Superman has turned his back on Kon, and the League will always stand with Big Bastard Blue. He's desperate, and Kon only knows of one other person who might give a damn about him.He'll take what he can get, even if the man is a supervillain on occasion.
Relationships: Bart Allen & Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent & Cassie Sandsmark, Kon-El | Conner Kent & Lex Luthor, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: TimKon Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740391
Comments: 169
Kudos: 886





	1. Never Meet Your Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> TimKon Week 2020: Canon AU / Coffeeshop/Bakery
> 
> Sorry this is so late. I had AP exams last week, and pretty much as soon as I finished my last one, my computer crashed and deleted everything I didn't have saved to my flash drive--including days 6/7. I had to restart both of them and am still crying.
> 
> This is crack treated seriously. It's a weird mesh of pretty much everything--comics, cartoons, etc. I honestly just wanted good dad Lex Luthor, and seven pages in I practically abandoned my notes, then started following them again at page 27. Oops. If anyone has self-control, can you please lend it to me?

**PART ONE**

Tim’s not snooping, not really. Or, he doesn’t mean to be snooping.

He’s coming down to the Batcave, earlier than he normally does. He can hear voices as he descends down the stairs, backpack slung over his shoulder and steps soft, though he can’t discern who is talking. He can make out the deep cadence of Bruce’s voice, but the other voice is muffled as it comes through the batcomputer’s comm system.

Tim means to announce his presence. He really does. He’s in sight of the batcomputer, halfway through a heavy step that he knows Bruce will notice, when he hears something that freezes the breath in his lungs

“Experiment 13 is currently en route to Smallville. His normal flight pattern indicates a stop at a local coffee shop in Trinidad, Colorado. We’ll intercept him there.”

Superman’s arms are crossed over his chest, the colors of his uniform bright even through the screen of the batcomputer. Batman is listening intently, cowl on as his fingers fly across the keyboard, eyes trained on a separate window on the computer screen. It’s a map with a blinking red dot flying over Utah.

Tim’s stomach drops. He quickly darts slightly to the right, ducking behind a wall and out of sight, his sneakers not making a sound as he moves. He was trained better than that.

Batman hums, either not noticing Tim’s appearance or not acknowledging it. Tim is sure that he hasn’t noticed, otherwise he would have already been shoved back up into the manor. Batman knows he and Kon are friends. To hear Superman say ‘Experiment 13’ makes rage curl deep in his belly.

Kon is so much more than that.

“The satellites have picked him up over Zion National Park in Utah. ETA to Trinidad is thirty-eight minutes.”

“Understood,” Superman says. “Martian Manhunter and I are in position. We’ll await his arrival.”

Batman nods. “I’ll come up to the Watchtower once he’s apprehended. I want to see the examination.”

“What about Robin?”

Tim holds his breath, unease making his stomach churn. He doesn’t notice that his hands have curled into fists until he feels his nails cut into the skin of his palms.

“He’s only just arrived at the manor. Agent A will keep him distracted until I return.”

Superman raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You sure he won’t be suspicious? He’s a clever one.”

“Agent A knows how to handle a curious Robin,” Batman says, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll have a cover story prepared for when I return.”

Tim’s hands are shaking. He has to focus on keeping his breathing even, forces himself to stay calm and keep his heart rate from accelerating, even as he feels it pound relentlessly inside his chest. Superman’s brief snort of laughter feels like broken glass in his ears.

“I have learned to never doubt Agent A.” The smile slips from Superman’s face. “Thanks again for this, Batman. I appreciate it. I’ll feel much more secure with him in custody until we have a full examination and brain scan—”

There is a ringing in Tim’s ears. A swell of bitter, angry emotion rushes through him, tinged with concern and worry. He doesn’t wait around to hear whatever else it is that the men have to say. Tim spins on his heel and slips into the shadows.

Batman will notice if he makes the walk up the stairs into the manor.

He doesn’t just need to leave the cave. He needs to disappear.

Tim moves as quickly as he can manage without making a sound. The Batcave has many different entrances, most of them well hidden and known only to Batman. Tim really was snooping when he hacked the batcomputer to find the original, unaltered blueprints of the Cave. He feels absolutely no shame.

Turns out Batman deserves to be hacked.

The cold stone of the wall sends a chill up his spine, goosebumps rippling across his skin as Tim slips along the wall. He can hear the distant rush of water from the waterway underneath the Cave, feel the cool, damp air inside his nose, smelling of dirt and mildew. There’s even the chirp of bats echoing off of the high ceilings.

Tim hasn’t felt this uneasy since he was first led down to the cave after knocking on the manor door and demanding to be let in when Batman was about to go somewhere he could never return from.

The shadows begin to give way to a faint flickering of light. Tim doesn’t speed up even though he wants nothing more than to break into a run. Instead, he breathes softly through his nose, keeps his steps light and steady, works his way through the Cave slowly and silently. He creeps along the edge of the wall, careful to avoid the sensors he knows Batman has scattered about. Thankfully, this is one of the potential escape routes in case the Cave is compromised. There are very few sensors, all of which are easily avoidably as long as one knows where to look.

Tim holds his breath as he finally reaches the apparent dead end of the tunnel. He carefully leans up onto the balls of his feet, reaching upwards until his hands curl along the smooth lip of the stone wall.

This entrance is carefully hidden. The tunnel appears to come to a dead end, but the wall is actually staggered, leaving a small space where a Robin can heft himself up and over the edge, landing in a small park about three miles away from Wayne Manor.

It has always been Tim’s favorite.

He’ll never admit out loud it’s because Batman could never slip between the wall wearing his armor. Even Bruce Wayne would struggle to make his way through. At present time, Tim is the only member of the Bat family who can use the tunnel, even if he’s not supposed to know about it.

Maybe that’ll teach Batman to up his security, because underestimating a Robin never leads to anything good.

Maybe, Tim thinks bitterly, it wouldn’t be an issue if Batman wasn’t turning his back on Tim’s best friend.

Backpack heavy on his shoulders, Tim speeds up, making his way quickly through the park as he pulls his phone from his pockets. His hands are shaking as he dials Kon’s emergency comm line. He’s already wasted nearly twenty minutes getting out of the Cave. He might be too late.

Tim ignores the thought and presses the little green call button. The line connects immediately.

_“Rob, what’s wrong—”_

“Don’t go to Trinidad,” Tim says firmly. “Kon, no matter what you do, do not go to Trinidad. Turn around right now.”

_“What? Rob, are you okay? How did you even know where I’m at? What’s happening—”_

Tim’s voice is pleading. “Trust me, Kon. The League is planning to intercept you and not in a good way. I overheard B and Big Blue talking about apprehending you and examinations. Trust me, Kon, get out of there. _Now_. Please.”

Kon swears over the comm, and Tim can hear the hiss of the wind that signals that Kon’s turning sharply and heading in a different direction.

_“Alright, I’m changing my route and heading away from the farm. What’s going on?”_

“I don’t know,” Tim says. “Just that it’s bad, okay? B told Big Blue that he was going to the Watchtower to ‘watch the examination’ and that Agent A would distract me until he had a cover story. B doesn’t lie to Robins, Kon. Not anymore.”

 _“What are you going to do?”_ Kon asks him. _“If B’s lying to you, then it might not be safe for you either.”_

“I’m on the move. I’m going to one of my off-grid safehouses. B doesn’t know about it because I had it before.”

 _“Good,”_ Kon says. _“Okay, do we need to contact everyone else? Wonder Girl? Impulse?”_

“I would just to be safe. I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t want to risk anything.” Tim glances around him, shoulders high around his ears despite his best effort to slip into Tim Drake, lazy, skateboarding genius. “Kon, Big Blue called you ‘Experiment 13.’ He’s bringing M.M. with him, and he was saying he’ll feel safer with ‘you in custody’.”

He hears Kon’s choked breath over the comm.

 _“No,”_ Kon says, voice cracking. _“No, it can’t be. Rob, he… he was past this. He_ named _me. What happened to make him not trust me again? I haven’t… I haven’t done_ anything _.”_

“I know, Kon, I know,” Tim says. “Trust me, we’ll figure it out, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

_“Yeah… Yeah, thanks, Rob.”_

“Of course.”

Tim ducks around a corner, making his way towards one of B’s emergency storage sheds where he can lift a bike. He took the tracker out of one nearly a year ago, and as of his last sweep, Batman hasn’t replaced it.

“Where are you heading, Kon?”

_“South.”_

“Can you make it to Colorado City?”

_“Yeah, why?”_

Tim bites the inside of his cheek. “There’s an office building downtown.” He rattles off an address. “It’s a Drake Industries office.”

Kon’s voice is confused, questioning. _“Okay?”_

Tim sighs. “It’s owned by me. Well, by the board of directors of DI until I turn twenty-one and graduate with a business degree.”

_“Wait… What? Rob, what are you talking about?”_

Tim doesn’t hesitate. “My name is Timothy Drake. My parents owned the company Drake Industries until they died. I’ll inherit the company once I’m of age. I turned this office into a safe house when I first took the cape. The basement is lined with lead and the building’s filled with white noise generators. Big Blue won’t find you there.”

 _“Rob… what? I…”_ Kon takes a long, deep breath. Tim can nearly picture him closing his eyes in an attempt to center himself. _“Okay, okay. I’ll be there in under ten minutes.”_

Tim finally reaches the shed, quickly punching in the electronic code. The batcomputer will send an alert that the shed’s been accessed. He has ten minutes tops until either Bruce or Alfred arrive.

“Good. There’s a backdoor on the south side of the building. The code is 1-7-0-9.”

Tim pulls the door of the shed open, quickly finding the modified bike. He has to forego the helmet because it will transmit his vitals and location to the Cave, and his phone will automatically sync with the helmet’s built-in comms. He doesn’t have his modified helmet here. He left it behind during the team’s last rendezvous. He slings a leg over the bike, the engine rumbling to life beneath him.

“Kon, I’m taking a bike and booking it. I’m going to try and—”

The shed door is yanked open, a furious Bruce Wayne towering over him.

“Fuck.”

Tim flips off of the bike, drawing the bo staff he keeps strapped to the inside pocket of his backpack.

 _“Rob?”_ Kon’s voice is frantic. _“What’s going on?”_

Tim speaks lowly, voice as flat as the look he levels at Bruce. “My position’s been compromised—”

“Put down the phone,” Bruce orders, his voice entirely the Bat’s.

“—Continue onto the coordinates. Alert the others. Protocol Mike-Charlie-Lima-Delta.”

Bruce speaks over him, trying to drown out the words before they reach Kon. “Put down the phone, Tim.”

Tim glares at his mentor, his adoptive father. The man who finally made him think, that for once, he might be enough.

“You take down Kon, B?” Tim snarls, baring his teeth. “You take me down with him.”

_“Shit, Rob—!”_

Bruce’s body is tense and screaming. Seeing him riled up is terrifying. It speaks volumes to how angry he is, how he’s losing his control piece by piece. Tim doesn’t want to be there when it breaks.

“Tim, whatever you think you know—”

Tim stares him down. “Kon, follow the protocol.”

_“Rob—”_

“Timothy Jackson Drake—”

Tim hisses. “You don’t get to pull the full name on me, Bruce.”

Bruce’s face goes blank with a familiar rage. Kon’s breath stutters over the comm. Tim knows exactly what he’s done.

Even without a last name, Kon now knows half of Batman’s secret identity.

Guess what he’s going to find if he searches Bruce and Gotham together on Google. If that’s not already obvious enough, add Timothy Drake to the search engine, and Batman’s secret identity is gone.

Tim barely has time to react before Bruce lunges forward.

His bo clatters against the shed floor.

Kon’s voice screams in his ear.

He activates the self-destruct software he programs into all of his electronics and drops his phone, crushing it beneath his shoe.

Bruce grabs him by the wrist and sinks his fingers into the pressure point on the side of Tim’s neck.

Tim’s vision darkens, and he barely notices the arms that wrap around him, scooping him up and throwing him over a broad shoulder.

/\/\/\

Kon’s fingers are shaking as he punches in the code given to him by Robin.

By _Tim_.

He hears the door beep, absently pushes inside and shoves it closed behind him. He worries that he uses too much of his strength, but the door absorbs the impact, clicking shut behind him as the security system reengages.

Kon barely notices anything as he makes his way to the basement, barely notices that he can’t hear anything from outside the walls of the room he’s in. He doesn’t stop until he’s in the basement, doors locked behind him.

Kon stumbles, shoulder crashing into the wall as he sinks to his knees. His chest is heaving as he tries to breathe, and he refuses to admit the hot, angry sting in his eyes. Kon’s throat is closing up, and he leans his head back against the wall, forcing himself to breathe.

He has to calm down.

Robin, _Tim_ , risks everything for him to let him know that Superman has reverted to his old, untrusting ways. That he’s planning on apprehending him with the help of Martian Manhunter and examining him like he’s some animal.

He can’t stop hearing Tim’s warning, the threat he delivers directly to Batman’s face. He tells the Batman himself that if he helps Superman take down Kon, he’s going to lose Tim in the process.

Kon has no idea what happens to Tim after the call cuts out. Even through the wind, his hearing is enough to pick out the threatening tone the Bat takes with his Robin, the clatter of Rob’s staff before the line suddenly goes silent.

Everyone knows that Batman is beyond protective of his Robins. Kon doesn’t know the full story, only that his Robin is the third, and his predecessor died on the job. Alone.

For Batman to use that voice on his Robin? It can’t mean anything good.

Kon’s hands are still shaking as he presses the small button to activate his comm. He goes straight to both Cassie and Bart’s lines, swallowing thickly and taking another breath to try and release some of the pressure in his chest.

“SB here,” he says, voice thick and strangled. “Rob activated Protocol Mike-Charlie-Lima-Delta. He’s been compromised.”

Bart’s connection flickers to life immediately. _“What?! What the hell happened?!”_

 _“Impulse,”_ Cassie says curtly. _“Get to rendezvous point 7C. Everyone, go dark on the comms. We don’t know if we’re being monitored.”_

 _“But Rob secured this channel himself,”_ Bart protests.

 _“I know. But this is Batman we’re talking about. He taught Robin most of what he knows, and if Robin’s truly compromised…”_ Cassie trails off, and no one wants to acknowledge what she’s pointing out.

Bart is suddenly very quiet, his normal exuberance nowhere to be seen. _“You don’t think Bats will hurt him, do you?”_

Kon’s chest constricts painfully, cold dread filling the pit of his stomach. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I can’t make the rendezvous point. Before he cut out, Rob sent me to one of his safehouses. Batman doesn’t know that it exists. I can’t risk going out.”

The sound of the wind in his ear tells him that Bart is on the move. _“SB, what’s going on?”_

“I’ll explain what once you guys have met up,” he says. “I… It’s bad, okay?”

_“Okay.”_

_“We’ll talk to you soon. Stay safe, SB.”_

Kon closes his eyes, melting against the wall. “You too, Imp. Superboy, going dark.”

_“Impulse, going dark.”_

_“Wonder Girl, going dark.”_

The comms go silent. Kon opens his eyes, stares up at the flat, blank ceiling, and wonders where the hell it all went wrong.

He takes a long, deep breath to try and ease the tension coiling through his body and locking up his muscles.

It takes him nearly ten minutes to push himself to his feet. Kon explores the basement, surprised to see that it’s more than Robin’s typical safe house set up. Robin is logical, and his safe houses—the few Bat-approved ones they’ve stayed at when a mission’s gone south—reflect that: fully stocked medical supplies, a one-month supply of non-perishable foods, bottled water, a backup weapons stockpile and maintenance kit, maybe a motorcycle or two if they’re lucky.

But this safe house is nothing like those ones.

Kon looks around with wide eyes and wonders what Robin was planning for when he set this place up.

The basement is more of an underground apartment. Once he’s past the entryway, where there's a coat closet and a place to store shoes, he’s in an open concept living area. The living room has two plush, fluffy couches and a reclining chair, the hardwood floors covered with what looks like an extremely soft rug. A flatscreen tv is mounted over a stone fireplace, and honestly, where the hell did Rob hide a chimney in this place?

Kon walks through the room, not quite believing what he’s seeing. Not when he sees the family-sized dining table, separated from the expensive-looking kitchen with its marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, and mahogany cabinets by an island/breakfast bar combo that’s big enough to seat four people. Kon doesn’t check to see if the kitchen’s stocked before he’s moving towards the adjacent hallway.

He finds two bedrooms that share a jack-and-jill bathroom, a large master suite, and a state-of-the-art office that leaves him slack-jawed. He knows that Rob is a total nerd, but this is something entirely different.

There’s a massive desk holding three different keyboards in what look like different languages, and there are three monitors the size of flat-screen TVs mounted on the wall to the left. The entire right wall is covered in a floor to ceiling whiteboard, a basket of colored markers stuck along the right edge. There’s a printer, a copy machine, a fax machine, everything that a top of the line office needs.

Kon is immediately suspicious when his search of the underground apartment doesn’t reveal anything overtly vigilante related. The office is a sign that Robin wants to be able to use this safe house to continue his work in the masked world, but there’s no armory, med bay, spare uniforms, anything.

He does another two sweeps of the apartment. When he finds nothing, he returns to the office. Kon scours the room, running his hands along the walls in an attempt to find any hidden crevices or compartments. Of course, Robin is too smart to use anything that noticeable. Growing frustrated, Kon scowls, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kon has one last idea, but he has no idea if it will work. But Robin trusts him, enough to give him his true name, to hand him the very keys to finding Batman’s identity, letting him crash here, warning him about the goddamn Justice League themselves.

“Designation: Superboy,” he calls out, feeling a little bit like an idiot talking at the ceiling. “Identification Code: B04.”

He waits, trying very hard not to shift from foot to foot. It takes barely twenty seconds for an electronic voice to come online.

_“Scan complete. Designation: Superboy: Authorized. Initiating Protocol: ‘How’s the World Ending this Time?’”_

Kon laughs despite himself, his shoulders relaxing in relief at the sound of Robin’s recorded voice coming across over the hidden speakers. He’s not surprised when the back wall sinks back several inches, breaking apart into two halves and sliding out of sight. Behind the false wall is exactly what Kon was looking for.

It’s a large room, as long as the entire apartment and reaching rather far back. The fluorescent lights flick on overhead when Kon crosses the invisible threshold, revealing a fully stocked med bay with four cots and several different types of medical equipment.

On the opposite side of the room are four display cases, each holding one of their small team’s uniforms. One for Wonder Girl, one for Impulse, even one for his new get up with the leather jacket and heavy boots. Robin’s costume is different from his typical one, darker in color and missing any type of logo or identifier.

Kon guesses that the several compartments built into the walls hold the many different types of weapons and gear that they may find themselves needing in any of the wild variety of crazy-ass cases they pick up.

When nothing in vigilante central gives him any information, Kon retreats back into the office, the doors sliding shut behind him. He finds himself standing in front of the computer with a frown. It feels wrong to sink into the entirely too comfortable desk chair. The blank screens flicker to life, and Kon has no idea how to proceed at the intimidating box asking for the password. This has always been Robin’s spot among them, and Kon feels uneasy as his fingers find the middle keyboard. As he thought before, it’s the only keyboard actually written in English.

Just as Kon is about to make his best guess and wing it, the screen lights up, the textbox filling with little black dots as the lock screen bleeds away to the normal desktop.

 _“Biometrics recognized,”_ the electronic voice says. _“Welcome, Kon-El.”_

He tries to ignore the sudden flinch at the name, instead taking in the monitors on the wall in front of him. Not knowing what to do, Kon simply pulls up Google and types in ‘Bruce Gotham City’. Immediately, thousands of results are before him.

_Brucie Wayne Strike Again: Are He and Miss Gotham the New It Couple?_

_Bruce Wayne Announces New Funding for Bowery Schools_

Robin couldn’t possibly mean this? Bruce Wayne is, well, Bruce Wayne. And sure, when Kon looks at the pictures displayed, he can see the physical resemblance between the socialite billionaire and the Batman. Their height and general build, their jawlines, hell, even their ass looks similar enough when he finds a photo of Wayne in a tight-fitting suit.

_Wayne Industries to Open New Technological Development Offices_

_Bruce Wayne Adopts Third Child_

_Is Bruce Wayne Gay? Pictures of Him and Metropolis Reporter Clark Kent Through the Years_

Kon startles, eyes wide. There are at least a dozen pictures of Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent, not only at galas and press events, but in what looks like a small coffee shop, sitting on a bench in a Metropolis park in shades and a baseball cap.

Shaking his head, Kon opens a new window and begins typing.

_Timothy Drake Gotham: About 167,000 results (0.33 seconds)_

_Brucie Wayne Takes in Stray #3: High Society Orphan, Timmy Drake_

_CFO of Drake Industries Killed in Hostage Situation, CEO in Coma_

_Drake Industries: Stocks Plummeting, Refusing Buy-Out by Wayne Enterprises_

_CEO Jack Drake of Drake Industries Dies Six Months After Kidnapping_

_Brucie Wayne & Timmy Drake: Shopping and Movies for the New Father-Son Duo_

_The Future of Drake Industries: Drake Heir Says He Will Not Let His Company Fail, Will Take Over Once 21_

Kon leans back in the chair. Bruce Wayne is Batman. Bruce Wayne is the freaking Batman. Shaking his head, he scans back through the search results. Tim is his third adopted child. Kon will bet everything that he owns that the first two were Robins I and II.

Deep in thought, Kon startles, jumping out of the chair when an alarm echoes throughout the underground apartment. Picking himself up off of the floor, Kon is once again gobsmacked when the monitor on the left shows the view of the security camera from the back-alley door he used to get inside.

Cassie and Bart are standing outside, arguing as they poke at the door, dressed in civvies with their respective go bags slung over their shoulders.

It takes a moment for Kon to find the right button, but when he does, he leans forward and slams it down.

“Cass, Bart… Can you guys hear me?”

Bart jerks, image blurring as he looks around. Cassie scowls and looks directly into the camera.

_“That you, Kon?”_

“Yeah,” he says, nodding even though they can’t see him. “Yeah, it’s me. How did you guys find me?”

Impulse stands on his toes, leaning around Cassie to peer into the camera himself.

_“SB, my dude, this is rendezvous point 7C. Don’t you recognize the coordinates, man? How did you get here? I thought Rob set you up in a safe house? Also, did you know that Barry and Wally are blowing up my phone asking where I am and if I’ve seen you? And Diana’s calling out to Cassie? Dude, you got so much explaining to do.”_

“No, I didn’t,” Kon says, unease slinking back through his body, tension returning with an utter vengeance. “And yeah, Rob did set me up here. Just, I’ll come let you in, then I’ll explain everything I know.”

He doesn’t wait for their response until he’s literally flying through the apartment and into the secret, encoded elevator that he almost didn’t find. He makes it to the door he came through in record time, punching in the same code Robin gave him, praying it will work. Thankfully, the same annoying beep sounds and the red light on the keypad turns to green. The door is shoved open, and Cassie and Bart practically tumble inside. Kon slams the door shut behind them.

“Kon, what the hell—”

“Cassie,” he interrupts, wincing at her furious look, “Just, please. Follow me and I’ll explain.”

Cassie nods tensely, Bart looking between her and Kon, mouthing something Kon can’t make out. Kon waves them after him, not speaking until they’re passed the secure elevator, passed the secondary door that hides the underground apartment, standing in the living room as Cassie and Bart gape at what they see.

“What the hell?” Bart says, sounding awed and horrified.

“It’s a long story,” Kon says. “Follow me. I’ll give you the tour later.”

The two follow Kon to the office, grudgingly silent. Once they’re inside, Kon turns and faces them, readying himself for the coming onslaught.

“Just, before I get started, what did you mean this was rendezvous 7C? Rob said this was a safe house he set up before he even took up the cape under Batman.”

Cassie raises an eyebrow. “Robin set up the rendezvous list. We all gave him locations to use, but he put them in the system. Rendezvous 7C is the location listed in Protocol Mike-Charlie-Lima-Delta.”

Kon shakes his head. Rob’s ability to think ahead has always amazed him. “Alright,” he says. “Go ahead and call you your designations and ID codes.”

Bart tips his head to the side. “Why?”

“Just do it. Please.”

Cassie gives him a curious look but does as asked. “Designation: Wonder Girl. Identification Code: B21.”

“Designation: Impulse,” Bart echoes. “Identification Code: B23.”

The same quiet buzz as before. The electronic voice clicks on, and Kon takes some semblance of comfort in the fact that he’s not the only one to jump in surprise.

_“Scans complete. Designation: Wonder Girl, designation: Impulse: authorized. Initiating Protocol: ‘How’s the World Ending this Time?’”_

The false wall slides away, revealing the secret vigilante headquarters Rob has stored away. Bart laughs in surprise, shaking his head. Even Cassie cracks a smile before the mask of seriousness returns to them all. Kon slumps.

“Okay, time to explain.” He sighs, shaking his head and trying to find where to start. “I was on my way to Smallville, and Rob called me on my emergency comm. He told me that he overheard Batman and Superman talking, and that Superman and Martian Manhunter were waiting for me at my normal coffee stop in Trinidad. He said that they were calling me ‘Experiment 13’ and were talking about some kind of examinations at the Watchtower. Batman was going to lie to Robin about it, have Agent A keep him busy.”

Bart is vibrating in anger, and Cassie’s face is shadowed in rage, hands wrapped tightly around her biceps, nails biting into her skin. Kon feels somewhat more settled with them here. He rolls his shoulders and forces himself to continue.

“He told me that he had left the Batcave and was planning to head out to a safe house. He gave me the address for this place, said he owned it.” Kon frowns, closing his eyes and wincing at the memory of Robin’s last few minutes of conversation.

“Kon,” Cassie starts gently, “what happened.”

“Batman happened.”

Her entire body goes tense, hardening into something that exudes power and anger and concern. “What did he do?”

“I don’t know, exactly. But…” Kon trails off, takes a deep breath to steel himself. “It was bad enough that Robin dropped his secret identity.”

The reaction is immediate.

“What?!”

“No way! Robin?!”

Kon nods numbly. “Yeah. He dropped it before Batman even showed up, when he gave me this address. He was trying to lift a bike from one of their storage sheds, but Batman showed up before he could get away. I couldn’t hear much through the comm, but I could tell he was furious. Rob… Robin dropped Batman’s name.”

For about fifteen seconds, the office is silent enough that they would be able to hear a pin drop. Then, it explodes.

“No fucking way.”

“Holy shit, he didn’t.”

“Batman’s going to kill him. Batman doesn’t kill, but he’s going to kill him. Oh my god.”

Cassie takes a long breath, and Kon recognizes the breathing pattern she adopts when she’s trying to calm her heart rate. “Okay, what do you know happened?”

Kon bites the inside of his cheek. “I know he drew his bo staff. I heard it hit the floor before he cut the call. I think Batman lunged at him, but I didn’t hear a scuffle or shout. I think Rob broke his phone so Batman couldn’t get into it.”

“The total bastard!” Bart hisses.

Cassie sets a hand on his shoulder but nods at Kon. “That would make sense.” She takes another sharp breath through her nose. “Okay. Okay. Tell me the big Bat’s secret identity.”

“You’re not going to believe me.”

Bart’s brows raise in question. Cassie’s expression is something more than skeptical.

“That bad?”

“Something like that,” Kon says. “Let me show you.”

He slides back into the desk chair, up the articles that have disappeared since he went to get the others. He feels Cassie and Bart behind him, one at each shoulder. He pulls up both of his searches.

“Oh my god,” Cassie whispers.

“Yeah,” Kon says.

“Is this… is this real?” Bart asks.

“Rob told me that his name’s Timothy Drake, and after Batman said something, Rob dropped the name Bruce.”

“I can’t believe it,” Cassie says, shaking her head. “It all fits together, but I just… Bruce Wayne?”

Bart is vibrating again, this time with obvious nerves. “Those article titles,” he starts. “The ones on Rob? It… Both of his parents are dead? And he owns his own company? And being taken in by Bruce Wayne?” He whistles, shaking his head. “Poor Rob. He’s as introverted as they come and he’s been paraded through the media since he was a kid.”

Kon nods absently, wincing at the thought. He watches Cassie bite her lip and stands from the desk, shutting down the computer and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I’ll give you guys a quick walkthrough of the place. It’s really just an underground apartment, well, you know, with the addition of that.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the secret room.

Bart snorts in laughter. “Okay, okay. Show us the love child of Rob and paranoia.”

/\/\/\

Tim wakes up to a terrible ache in his shoulder and neck.

It takes him longer than he would like to admit to fully come to, blinking at the harsh fluorescent lights above his head. Tim goes to push himself up, frowning when his wrists jerk backward, keeping him strapped down. Panic flashes through him until he tucks in away in the back of his mind. No time for that.

Tim looks around the best he can with his wrists and ankles strapped down to a thin cot. He’s still in the same clothes as before, though he’s missing his shoes and backpack. It doesn’t take Tim long to realize that he’s in the Batcave. It takes him only slightly longer to realize that he’s in the Batcave’s containment room, the one they use when someone gets hit with any type of toxin or poison that requires them to be strapped down, locked away, and isolated until it’s out of their system.

It’s the closet thing Batman has to a cell.

Tim barely has time to process before he hears the click of the door unlocking. He yanks at his restraints, scowling when Bruce appears above him. And he’s Bruce, not Batman, dressed in the sweater and slacks that he tends to wear around the manor, tired lines carved into his face. Somehow, this just makes Tim angrier. He bites his tongue and resolves not to say a word.

“Tim.” Bruce even sounds exhausted, a weakness he never lets anyone see. “I’m not sure what all you heard, but I assure you that it’s not what you think.”

Tim ignores him, staring past Bruce’s face and straight at the ceiling. He hears as Bruce drags a chair next to the cot, sitting down next to Tim with a sigh.

“I know that you and the clone are friends—” Tim snarls despite himself. Bruce seemingly doesn’t react. “—but there is more to the situation than you know. The League just wants to keep everyone safe. You and your team especially.”

Tim remains silent. He does not flinch when Bruce sets a hand on his knee. He doesn’t. Bruce withdraws quickly anyway.

“You’ll see, Tim. I promise it’ll be okay. I need to head up to the Watchtower soon, but Alfred will be here for you. He’ll be down soon to check on you and keep you company.”

The hand returns to his knee, giving it a firm squeeze before Bruce stands. He looks down at Tim, running a gentle hand through his hair. His expression isn’t as pinched as Tim would expect from someone’s whose secret identity was just dropped. Instead, he just looks tired and worried; perhaps, one could even call the look on his face concerned.

“I’m sorry this had to happen, Tim. It’s just… You don’t know everything about the situation at hand. I just want to keep you safe, and I can’t do that with the clone on the loose.” The hand pauses, Bruce’s thumb skimming gently along Tim’s hairline. “I know nothing makes sense right now, but I promise, I’ll explain once… Kon-El… is in custody.” Bruce’s shoulders slump inward, and it takes a lot of effort on Tim’s part to keep from caving in and accepting the comfort Bruce so rarely offers. “I can’t lose you, Tim. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Bruce smooths his hand over Tim’s hair one last time before spinning on his heel and leaving the containment room, the door shutting behind him with a menacing click. Tim gives his restraints one last tug before he sinks into the cot with a huff.

He’s not giving up. No, there’s too much at stake for that. Superman called him the clever Robin. He’ll show the asshole just how clever he can be.

It’s unfortunate that Bruce is smart enough to triple check everything. All of his lockpicks are gone, even the ones sewn into the waist of his pants and the collar of his shirt. Tim can’t wriggle out of the restraints, the ones made specially to hold a drugged-up Bat, and he can barely lift his head to look around the room. It’s frustrating, but Tim has escaped so much worse. He’ll bide his time, make a plan, and hope that Alfred disagrees with how Bruce is handling the current situation.

Exhaustion is gnawing at Tim’s bones. His eyes are drooping against his will, his heart rate and breathing slowing as he tries to stay awake. He finds himself jerking up every few minutes, trying to jolt the tiredness from his body when he realizes he’s on the cusp of falling asleep. It doesn’t help that the lights dim a few minutes after Bruce leaves, mimicking the exact amount of light that makes it into his bedroom through his blackout curtains when he sleeps through the day.

Damn Bruce for knowing exactly where to hit him.

Tim refuses to acknowledge the part of him that’s touched that Bruce knows this much about him, and it’s not too hard considering how furious he is that his partner is using his personal knowledge against him.

Tim takes to reciting pi, then reciting pi backward once he can’t remember past the seven hundredth number. It’s something he taught himself a long time ago, something to keep him distracted during the dinner parties his parents made him attend, where he was to be seen and not heard. He had to stop his memorization when his mother started questioning him about the happenings of the dinner’s conversations and he couldn’t answer her.

Sometime after number two hundred ninety-one, Tim hears the lock of the containment room turn. The door swings open and light floods the room. Tim squints against the light until the door is shut once more and it disappears.

“Master Timothy,” Alfred greets.

Tim feels his stomach drop. Alfred is on Batman’s side this time. Whatever Bruce said to him has Alfred convinced that strapping him to a table in something that’s simply a mildly comfortably cell is the best course of action. Even more, Alfred is angry at him. Probably for his attempted escape through the tunnels and therefore the knowledge that he hacked the Batcave.

Damn. That puts a dent in his fifty-seven percent of a plan.

“Hey, Alfred,” Tim says. “How was your weekend?”

“It was well, thank you. Up until the point Master Bruce told me that his young son had not returned home when he was expected to, then was found trying to run away on a motorcycle.”

Tim winces. Very unhappy, then.

“Well, you know, when Batman and Superman threaten a guy’s best friend, he can’t just leave him behind. That’s just breaking the bro code, Alfred.”

Alfred says nothing, though he does take a seat in the chair Bruce dragged over by his cot. Tim is tenser than before, his back practically arching off the cot. His hands have curled into fists and he’s subtly yanking at the restraints again.

Alfred sighs. “Honestly, Master Timothy, do calm down. Master Bruce is only doing his best to protect you. You’d do well to respect the authority of your elders.”

Tim barely keeps himself from snarling. Well, his respect for Alfred just dropped significantly. So much for tugging at the sentimentality leftover from the man’s army days. Here he thought Alfred would be just as indignant as he is at Bruce strapping him to a cot and leaving him there to go hunt down Tim’s best friend.

Turns out that all adults disappoint you in the end.

Just for once, Tim thought meeting his hero wouldn’t end like this.

/\/\/\

Kon, Cassie, and Bart sit around the kitchen table, hands curled around cooling mugs of coffee. After scouring the apartment, they’ve found little to work with.

The basement itself isn’t supposed to exist. It doesn’t show up on any blueprints, Drake Industries databases, or city records. Not only that, it’s on an entirely separate network than the rest of the building, securely encoded so that only someone Robin has programmed into the system has access to it. Bart finds a supply closet tucked away, where there’s enough food and water to last four people nearly a year.

They haven’t found anything that could clue them in to why Superman has decided to come after Kon again after years of accepting his existence. Other than the hidden room and supply closet, there’s nothing even remotely vigilante related in the apartment.

None of them have any idea what the hell Robin was thinking when he set this place up.

The silence that hangs between them is deafening. The tense, hopeless feeling that permeates the air feels as though it’s crushing their lungs, pressing down on their shoulders until they’re slumped into the table, absolutely and utterly exhausted.

They’ve all turned off their phones and taken out the batteries, and their team comms are only accepting transmissions on the emergency channel that Robin coded himself.

Bart sets his cup down harshly, the resulting thud echoing throughout the painfully silent room.

“Alright, enough moping. We can’t just sit here and wait it out. I don’t think Rob is going to be able to get away from the Batman, let alone get more than halfway across the country without being caught or tracked. We need a plan.”

Cassie scowls, glaring into the swirling coffee of her mug. “You’re right; we do need a plan. We need to keep Kon safe from Big Bastard Blue, and we need to find a way to get Robin away from Gotham and Batman.”

“If he’s even in Gotham,” Kon counters. “Batman has safe houses all around the world. He may have moved Robin somewhere, I dunno, more secure?”

Bart shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. Gotham’s Bat territory. Wally told me that even the Green Lantern Corps doesn’t go there without his permission. If he’s keeping Rob locked up, it’s in the Batcave. No one gets in there unless he wants them to.”

“Then how the hell are we supposed to get him out?”

Cassie sets down her own mug, brows furrowed in thought. “I don’t think Batman would ever hurt him,” she says.

“Even though he literally dropped not only his secret identity, but the Batman’s?” Bart asks incredulously. “Bats keeps his ID locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Only the founding members of the League know his name. He’s probably uber pissed right now.”

“I’m sure he is,” Cassie says. “Batman’s a crazy bastard, but he wouldn’t hurt Robin.”

“How do you know?” Kon asks.

Cassie sighs, shoulders slumping forwards. “Diana,” she admits. “She told me a bit of what happened to the last Robin. She was surprised that Batman even took on a third, said that she never expected him to take that risk again. After what happened, Batman would never hurt him. Take away the cape? Maybe even lock him up? Sure. But he wouldn’t touch a hair on Robin’s head.”

Bart looks at her curiously. “What happened anyway?”

“I don’t know the whole story,” Cassie says, “but Robin II went off on his own and was captured by the Joker. He was killed before Batman could get there. She says it’s Batman’s greatest regret.” She shakes her head absently. “Even if for his own selfish purposes, Batman won’t let another Robin get hurt.”

“Dying and getting hurt are major difference,” Kon says.

“Maybe. But I still don’t think that’s what we have to worry about.”

“Then what do we have to worry about?” Bart asks.

“Getting him away from Gotham,” Cassie says. “Batman’s probably worried. By now, he knows that the three of us have gone off-grid and that we know his identity. Robin’s going to be on lockdown.”

Kon nods slowly. “So then what do we do?”

Cassie looks Kon in the eye. “I have no idea.”

“That is absolutely no help here, Cassie.”

“I’m aware.”

“Well then what the hell are we going to do?”

“Like I said, Bart, I don’t know. That’s the problem here.”

“Well obviously!”

Cassie glares at them. “Look, knowing what we need to do and knowing how to do it are two very different things. And something like this? I don’t even know where to start. There are so many variables, so many things that could go wrong. This is the Justice League!”

“We’ve fought wars!” Bart practically howls. “In space!”

“Yeah,” Cassie fires back, “and half of space doesn’t even come near the Milky Way because they’re freakin’ terrified of the League!”

Bart crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Fine. Point to you or whatever.”

Cassie rolls her eyes. “I’m just saying that we can’t go into this half-cocked. This is not the time to punch now, ask questions later. These guys literally taught us everything we know. Well,” She glances guiltily at Kon. “kind of.”

“I get what you mean,” Kon says. “We need to think this through more than we usually do.”

“Not to be a downer or anything,” says Bart, “but Rob is usually our point guy when it comes to this sort of stuff.”

“I know,” Cassie says. “Which is one reason why we need to be so careful. We can’t afford to rush into this.”

“So… Anyone got any ideas?” Bart asks.

“Not particularly,” Kon says. “I’m still a bit lost about the whole thing.”

Cassie sets a gentle hand atop his. “I’m sorry, Kon. We’ll figure it out, and then we’ll beat out whatever stupid Big Bastard Blue has stuck in his head.”

“I like the sound of that,” Bart says, cracking his knuckles with a smile. “So, how we gonna do this? I vote we piss him the hell off.”

Kon raises an eyebrow. “I recognize that look. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that the Big Bastard doesn’t do too much thinking when he’s frustrated. Batman, he’s always thinking ten steps ahead. But if we piss Superman off enough, logic goes out the window, right?”

“Bart,” Cassie starts, almost hesitantly, “where are you going with this?”

Bart grins. “Who does Superman hate more than anyone?”

“Lex Luthor,” Kon says flatly, insides churning uncomfortably.

Bart snaps his fingers. “Exactly.”

“And?” Cassie asks. “Bart, you got to clue us in here.”

“We drop a few hints to Luthor that Superman is going crazy hunting Kon down. He’ll go all righteous father on Supes’ ass. Supes will be distracted with Luthor, will probably think that he’s involved somehow. Batman will get involved, and while they’re distracted, we get into Gotham, grab Rob, and get out. We hide out here until we know what’s going on and everything blows over.”

Kon bites the inside of his cheek, looking down at the table, brows furrowed. Cassie gives his hand a squeeze.

“Bart, I’m not sure—”

Kon cuts her off before he can change his mind. “I could just ask him for help.”

He can feel Cassie’s blank stare, watches as Bart’s jaw drops, then snaps shut, then opens again, his eyes blown wide.

“What the hell, Kon?!”

“Dude, SB, you know I love you and all—”

“You cannot be serious right now, Kon.”

“—but my man, my dude, this is crazy. I mean, Lex Luthor?”

“Kon, think this through! He’s literally a supervillain!”

“He’s tried to have you kidnapped—”

“Stop,” Kon says, stopping both of them before they can continue. “Look, I’m not the biggest fan of it either, but Luthor has always offered to be there for me. And he didn’t try to have me kidnapped that time. He just wanted to talk to me, and he let me walk away when I didn’t want to be there.”

“Still, man…”

Kon looks up at the ceiling, counts to ten, then looks back to his teammates. “I know everything he’s done, okay? I know just how messed up Luthor is. I mean, he stole Superman’s DNA and mixed it with his own to make me. I get it. But Lex has always told me that he’ll be there for me if I need him. Yeah, he’s an asshole who’s occasionally evil, but Superman is literally using the League to try and hunt me down and stick me in a cell to run tests on me. I think I’ll take the man who at least wants to have something to do with me.”

Cassie breathes through her nose. “Okay… I’m not saying I agree with this, not in the slightest, but alright, tell us what you’re thinking.”

Bart simply crosses his arms and glares, though Kon can see the thoughts whirring at superspeed behind his eyes.

“I… I don’t know, not for sure at least.” He must look rather pathetic because Cassie and Bart bite their tongues. “He gave me his number a few years ago, told me to call him if I ever needed help. I… I don’t know, you guys. We don’t have any other options right now. The League will default to Superman, Batman’s probably got Nightwing in his pocket. We all know he’s almost as protective as Batman is when it comes to Robin. If he thinks that locking Rob in the Batcave will keep him safe, he’ll let it happen. And if he sides with Batman, all of the other young heroes will listen to him.”

Bart looks him up and down, eyes calculating in a way they rarely are. “What are you going to tell him?”

“The truth,” Kon says. “I’m going to tell him that Robin warned me that Superman and Martian Manhunter were going to grab me on my way to the farm and lock me up somewhere to run tests, then he set me up in a safe house before Batman attacked him, and I lost contact.”

“You’re really going to tell him that Batman _attacked_ Robin?” Cassie asks, somewhat incredulously.

Kon nods firmly. “Yes. It’s the truth. Even if Batman didn’t hurt him, Robin felt threatened enough to draw his bo and destroy his phone.”

“And if he doesn’t want to help you?’ Bart asks.

“Then we figure something else out.”

“I don’t like it,” Cassie says.

“I don’t either,” Kon says. “But I’m willing to take the risk if it means we have a chance of getting Rob out of Gotham.”

Cassie frowns. “And what about you? If anything, going to Luthor is going to piss Superman off even more. We still don’t know why he’s after you in the first place.”

“Who knows at this point. But I wouldn’t be surprised if it as to do with Luthor. At this point, I really don’t give a shit.”

Cassie and Bart share a look from the corner of their eyes. It annoys Kon, but he can understand where they’re coming from. He’s emotionally compromised. They all are, but him more so. Rob is one of his best friends. Superman is the closest thing he’s ever had to family, and they’d finally started getting along, but now he’s hunting him down. Lex Luthor, an actual supervillain, is the only one who seems to give a damn about Kon aside from his team and may be their only chance to get Robin away from Gotham.

“Do it,” Cassie says.

Bart bites his lip. “Rob’s computer should be secure enough to call Luthor without him being able to track you.”

Kon takes a deep breath. He tries to calm the nerves fluttering in his stomach, clenching and unclenching his fingers. He nods, pushing away from the table with a long, shaky exhale.

“I’ll go make the call. You guys want to wait in the hallway so you can hear what’s going on?”

Cassie and Bart both nod in affirmation, and the three of them soon find themselves hovering around the office, Cassie and Bart pacing in the hallway as Kon sits at the desk. He pulls up the comm system on the computer, punching in the number given to him by Luthor years ago. It rings for nearly thirty seconds until there’s a small click of the line connecting.

_“Kon-El?”_

Kon instinctively stiffens, both at his given name and the sound of Lex Luthor’s deep voice.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

There is a moment of silence before Luthor speaks. _“Are you okay? Has something happened?”_

Kon closes his eyes and takes yet another shaky breath. “I need help,” he says. “Superman…” He trails off, unsure of what to say to properly convey everything that is happening. “Robin contacted me several hours ago to tell me that Superman and Martian Manhunter were going to intercept me on my flight to Smallville and apprehend me.”

_“What course of action have you taken?”_ Luthor asks diplomatically.

Kon’s fingers curl around the edge of the desk, the dark wood splintering beneath his grip. “Robin set me up in one of his off-grid safehouses before he was attacked by Batman. I met up with the rest of my team, but we’ve lost contact with Robin.”

_“Batman attacked Robin?”_

“I don’t know for sure what happened, but Robin was on his way out of Gotham when Batman caught up to him. I know that he drew his bo staff, but he broke his phone before Batman could get his hands on it. We haven’t heard anything since. Robin…”

He glances at Cassie and Bart from the corner of his eye, the question plain in his expression. Bart vehemently shakes his head, but Cassie shrugs. It’s her universal way of saying, ‘it’s your choice; you’ll face the consequences.’ Kon takes a leap he’s not sure he can come back from.

“Robin told me his secret identity. He dropped Batman’s first name as well.”

Luthor’s inhale can be heard over the comm. _“It must be bad then. What else do you know?”_

“Not much,” Kon admits. “Robin overhead a conversation between Batman and Superman. Superman was referring to me as ‘Experiment 13,’ and Robin said they were talking about taking me into custody to run some kind of tests.”

 _“I see,”_ Luthor says, clipped and cool. Kon knows he’s furious. _“What do you want me to do?”_

“I don’t know. Robin activated a protocol that calls for the entire team to go into lockdown, but even though we’re together, we’re stuck where we are. We don’t know what to do. There’s no way we can get to Robin in Gotham, and the second I leave the warehouse, Superman will be able to track me. I’m not risking Wonder Girl or Impulse either.”

Luthor is silent for a moment, likely thinking about all of his options. _“Why did you call me to ask for help? You’ve made it clear that you want nothing to do with me.”_

Kon closes his eyes, head bowed. “I know, but right now, you’re the only one outside of my team who gives a damn what happens to me. I know that we don’t exactly have the best relationship, or have any relationship of all, but you were there for me before Superman even acknowledged I exist. I… I’m hoping that you might still be willing to help me.

“I got caught up with Superman naming me, being on the team, finally feeling like I was accepted… I know now that Superman was never really there for me, and I didn’t give you a chance when I maybe should have. And I’m sorry about that.”

 _“I could have been a little more understanding of your hesitance to be associated with me,”_ Luthor says. _“I understand why you didn’t want to trust me when there was potential for you to have a relationship with Superman. I’ll help you, Kon-El.”_

“Thank you.”

_“Of course. Now, do you have any idea about what you want to do?”_

“No,” Kon says. “I’m at a loss. I’m worried about Robin, and I’m confused about why Superman is suddenly after me when we’ve been getting along. I just want my team to be safe.”

 _“I understand,”_ says Luthor. _“That’s admirable of you. Let me get together my legal team, and we can go over your options.”_

“Legal team?”

_“Yes. I have a few ideas I want to run by them. And yes, all of them are legal, before your Wonder Girl asks. Is it okay if I call you back in two hours? Your team is welcome to contribute to the conversation if they wish to.”_

Kon looks to Bart and Cassie where they hover at the edges of the office. They nod, and Kon offers them a small smile.

“Sounds good,” he says to Luthor. “We’ll talk to you soon. Thank you, Luthor, really.”

_“Anytime, Kon-El. I’ll talk to you later this evening.”_

The comm disconnects, leaving the office in silence. Kon slumps back into his chair, staring at the ceiling until he feels ready to face Cassie and Bart. When he sits up, they’re standing beside him, Bart’s hand on his shoulder.

“Any idea what Daddy Lex is planning?” he asks.

Kon shakes his head. “Not a clue.”

/\/\/\

Tim’s not sure how long Alfred leaves him strapped to his cot in the containment room. His wrists and ankles are rubbed raw from his struggling, itchy with dried blood. Alfred tutted at him during his last visit when he wiped the blood from Tim’s skin, scolding him with a warning to not do it again. Tim ignores him and continues to try and twist out of the restraints. If Alfred wants him to listen, then he shouldn’t have supported Bruce’s decision to lock him up.

The lights have dimmed eight times, but Alfred has only brought him food four times, so he’s sure that it hasn’t been more than two days. Even pissed at him, Bruce and Alfred would never deprive him of food or water. His best guess is that Alfred is passive-aggressively trying to get him to sleep by confusing his exhausted body.

It doesn’t work.

He’s only been unstrapped a few times—just enough to let him use the restroom, eat, and stretch his legs. Alfred is in the room the whole time, staring him down with a keen eye. Tim knows better than to make a run for it. Alfred is a badass in his own right, but if Tim ever did hurt him, he’d never be forgiven by anyone in the Bat family.

He doesn’t need to add hurting Alfred to the list of things that have gotten him on Batman’s shit list. He doesn’t want to hurt Alfred, even if the man’s hurt him.

Once he’s out of the damn restraints, Tim will be out of Cave like a bat out of hell.

When this is all over, Tim has serious doubts about staying in Wayne Manor, hell, even staying in Gotham. Bruce just finalized his adoption, but Tim’s nearly sixteen. He can work to become an emancipated minor. The DI lawyers will have his back. He really doesn’t want to leave Gotham, not when he has Drake Industries and all of his contacts to look after.

But staying as Bruce Wayne’s ward is not an option.

Staying as Robin is not an option, as much as it pains him to admit it.

If he can’t get emancipated, he can always try and have his guardianship transferred from Bruce to a member of DI’s board. He’s grown up at Drake Industries, was there more than his parents were when he was young. He used to go to the main office after school when his parents were traveling. He may not know the board members as well as some of the regular office workers or R&D managers, they’ll take him in if he asks them to.

Nearly everyone at DI remembers him as the young boy who was more involved in the company than his absentee parents; the young genius who cared more about the company than using the profits it makes to fund his parent’s hobbies. Tim used to spend his evenings playing in R&D until he snuck out to photograph Batman and Robin, even crashed in the lounge with the night shift a few times when he was too exhausted to make it out the door.

Tim may be being held prisoner in his own home, but that doesn’t make him useless. It gives him time to plan. He can get out of this, even without Alfred’s help. It will take more time, but he can do it.

Batman’s not in the Cave, instead staying at the Watchtower with Superman to spend his time trying to find Kon. Tim scoffs to himself. If Kon made it to the safe house and hasn’t stepped outside, they won’t find him. Tim built that safehouse himself, made it specifically in case he ever needed to hide from the League. Of course, he was thinking of mind control, not plain stupidity.

Hopefully, Kon was able to alert Cassie and Bart when he enacted the protocol that calls for them to go into lockdown to hide from their mentors. Cassie and Bart would be able to meet up with Kon at the safe house, and they could work together to figure out what’s going on.

When he’s out of here, he’s going to make sure that they never make fun of him for his endless contingencies ever again.

It’s unfortunate that he never thought he’d need a contingency for being trapped in the Cave by a willing, sane, and sober Batman with the help of Alfred. Tim is halfway through forming a string of contingencies that can be adapted for any member of the Bat family holding him hostage at any of their known safe houses and bases.

He’s absent-mindedly yanking at his restraints again when the fluorescent lights flicker back to life, searing Tim’s tired eyes. Turns out refusing to sleep when strapped to a cot as someone tries to mess with his body’s physical needs is harder than he thought.

Tim blinks the bright spots from his eyes, glaring when Batman appears above him. Batman’s mouth is pressed in a thin line, and Tim can tell from the way he’s holding himself that Bruce hasn’t slept. His shoulders are tight, his entire body coiled with tension. His cowl is on, the whiteout lenses of his cowl staring him down. Tim glares at him.

“Hey, Batman. Here unstrap me?”

Batman says nothing. He doesn’t react at all, and Tim is both furious and hurt at the fact that Bruce can stare down at him, even while he’s wearing the cowl, and not even show the tiniest bit of emotion, whether it be anger or regret. Tim knows that he’ll never be a son to Bruce like Dick or Jason were, but damn him, it still hurts that Batman seemingly doesn’t give a damn that he’s kept Tim restrained for two days. Turns out he hasn’t built up his emotional barrier as well as he thought.

“So you’re going the silent and brooding route instead?” Tim snarks. “Gee, it reminds me so much of my early Robin days when you couldn’t even stand to look at me. Tell me, Bats, how would you feel if it were the Joker who’d strapped me down and left me alone for two days?”

Batman finally winces. Tim doesn’t feel any vindictive glee or satisfaction. No, he doesn’t feel anything except burning disappointment. He knows he should feel bad for the Joker comment. It was a low blow, something he never should have said, no matter how upset he is. Batman lost a son to the man, nearly broke his one, sacred rule until Superman stopped him.

Tim doesn’t know how to feel when he feels nothing at all.

Batman’s whiteout lenses have narrowed, and there’s finally a spark of something coming off of the man. Tim can only scowl at him.

“We are flying to The Hague,” Batman finally says, his voice completely flat. “We leave in fifteen minutes. Agent A will escort you to the javelin. _Do not_ give him trouble.”

Tim actually snarls, yanking at his restraints. “Why the fuck should I listen to you?”

Batman withdraws slightly, allowing his cape to fall around his shoulders and shield his body from view. “Agent A will be here in a moment. You will need to wear a domino.”

Before Tim can react, Batman is spinning on his heel in retreating. Tim watches him go, a familiar rage rushing through him. He feels as though he is burning as he struggles against the straps holding him down. Batman said The Hague? That must mean they’re appearing in front of the International Court of Justice. Why on Earth would they be appearing in front of the ICJ?

Dread is heavy in the pit of Tim’s stomach. Something must have happened to Kon. Did Superman get to him before he could make it to the safe house? Did Cassie and Bart get caught when they were on their way to the rendezvous point at the underground apartment? Shit, did they leave to try and come for him and were captured along the way?

Tim’s struggling renews, and Alfred appears in the doorway moments later. He can hear the butler tut in disapproval, and the sound makes Tim grit his teeth in frustration.

“Enough of that, Master Timothy,” he says sharply. “Master Bruce has gone through so much trouble to protect you, and you best be on your best behavior for him. No more of this nonsense.”

“Protect me my ass,” Tim hisses, not caring about the profanity that makes even Alfred’s stiff upper lip twitch in annoyance. “If he gave a damn about me, he would have explained what’s going on instead of lying to me and keeping me locked up like a goddamn—”

Tim’s rant is cut off as he feels a needle slid into the crook of his elbow.

“I said enough of that,” Alfred says. “Now when you wake up, you remember who’s been here for you since you knocked on his front door without an invitation.”

Ice racing through his veins, his eyes drooping as he sags against the cot, Tim is suddenly too woozy to reply. He thinks it says a lot about what’s happened the past few days that he’s not even surprised that Alfred drugged him.

/\/\/\

Kon is pacing nervously, resisting the urge to bite his nails. Cassie is leaning against the wall a few feet away from him, arms crossed over her chest as she taps a harsh rhythm along her bicep. Bart is fiddling with some small, twisty object that Kon doesn’t know the name of to distract himself so he doesn’t literally vibrate through the floor.

Lex Luthor sits calmly on the same bench as Bart, one leg crossed over his knee and as he reads through a thick packet of papers in his lap.

Kon doesn’t know how this happened. Well, actually, he does.

What he means is that when he calls Lex Luthor to ask for help rescuing Robin and keeping Superman from hauling Kon off to a superhero space laboratory, he doesn’t expect the LexCorp legal team to endorse Superboy and file a lawsuit against the Justice League, claiming that the League has violated the terms of the Geneva Convention.

He definitely doesn’t expect to officially be adopted and given a civilian identity either, but Kon decides to worry about that later, when Robin is away from Batman, and Kon knows for sure that his best friend is safe.

The heels of Kon’s dress shoes click against the pristine tile of the Peace Palace. He focuses on counting the number of markings on the floor’s patterned border. Lex had gifted him, Bart, and Cassie dress clothes appropriate for a legal hearing of the International Court of Justice. The suit jacket feels tight around his shoulders even though it’s customed tailored to fit his build.

“Superboy,” Lex calls.

Kon’s pacing stops abruptly, the echo of his final footstep fading into the air. “Yeah?”

Lex looks up from his phone, his expression carefully blank. “Batman has just arrived with Robin. Superman and Wonder Woman were aboard the javelin as well, but have not left the craft.”

The air freezes in Kon’s lungs, his heart leaping into his throat. He sees Cassie and Bart straighten up, Cassie standing up and uncrossing her arms, and Bart tucking his distraction into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. The three of them instinctively move together.

“He’s here?”

Lex nods. “Yes, they’ll be coming up this way in a moment.”

Cassie finds his hand, grasping it in a hold tight enough that it would break a regular person’s hand. Bart’s fingers curl into the bottom of his jacket.

“We’ll see him before the hearing starts?” Cassie asks.

“Yes,” Lex says, tucking the papers he’s reading away in a sleek briefcase. “I’d recommend not making too large of a scene. Batman is going to have a firm hold on him. We don’t want an altercation before the hearing begins.”

Cassie nods, though her lips have tugged down to form a deep frown. Bart clutches Kon’s jacket tighter, and Kon takes a sharp breath, which does nothing to help the violent thudding of his heart. He glances at Lex without thinking, but the man simply offers him a small nod of acknowledgement, taking an exaggerated breath for Kon to mimic.

Kon tries to slow his breathing and steel his nerves. However, before he can even stop the shaking of his hands, his attention is forcibly yanked backward. He, Cassie, and Bart turn at the same time, eyes widening when they catch sight of the new arrivals.

Everything else fades away as Kon’s attention hones in on Robin. The boy looks exhausted, even with a domino shielding his eyes. He’s dressed in a sharp suit similar to the one Kon and Bart both wear, but his shoulders are tight with tension. He’s holding himself the same way he has when he’s been held captive by villains during past missions.

Behind him, Batman is dressed in a suit of his own, his cowl gone for the first time ever, instead replaced with a domino identical to Robin’s. He has an iron grip on the back of Robin’s shoulder. Kon’s hackles instantly rise. Batman is holding Robin the same way a mother cat holds her kitten by the scruff of its neck when it misbehaves.

It’s a vulnerable spot, leaves Robin in an awkward position that’s hard to get out of. Kon knows that Batman’s nerve strikes are something to be feared, and with one quick movement, barely a shift of his hand, and Batman could hit the pressure points in Robin’s neck to knock him out.

Kon is ready to stomp forward despite Lex’s suggestion, but he doesn’t have the chance to.

The moment Robin catches sight of them, the lenses of his domino widen and he stops moving, causing Batman to stumble into his back. Before anyone can say anything, Robin is twisting in the Batman’s hold, deft fingers darting out and striking several places, reaching from Batman’s wrist to his elbow. Batman is already reaching out with his other hand, but Robin has ducked away, spinning on his heel and sprinting towards his teammates.

He makes it there in seconds, and Kon is forced to release Cassie’s hand when Robin launches himself into Kon’s arms.

Kon grabs onto him without thinking, wrapping him in a tight hug. Robin buries his face into Kon’s neck.

“Thank god,” Robin whispers, his hot breath ghosting across the sensitive skin of Kon’s neck. “I thought Superman had gotten you or the entire team had been caught or the apartment—”

“Hey, Rob. Robin. _Tim_.” Tim’s name feels odd on his tongue, but Kon simply wraps his arms tighter around the shaking boy, unconsciously pulling him closer to his chest until Robin’s toes barely brush against the ground. “It’s okay, you’re okay. We all made it to the safe house, okay? We’re fine, we’re all fine thanks to you.”

Tim’s arms tighten around Kon’s neck, but he doesn’t say anything, instead dragging in a harsh, ragged breath. Kon’s hands splay across Tim’s back.

“We’re here because LexCorp has endorsed us and reported that the Justice League violated the Geneva Convention. They’re on trial here, not us.”

Tim pulls away in shock. _“What?”_

Kon laughs despite himself. “I know, right? It’s completely crazy.” He shakes his head, ignoring the burn in his eyes as his throat begins to feel tight. “Turns out Lex always wanted to be a dad.”

The expression on Tim’s face makes Kon laugh even harder, pulling him back into a fierce hug, burying his nose in Tim’s hair. He doesn’t notice anything that’s going on around them.

Not Cassie and Bart planting themselves in front of him and Tim, blocking an angry Batman’s view of Robin.

Not Lex Luthor standing in front of them, calling security and telling Batman to back down, that he’s terrifying the boy who’s run from him.

Not the doors of the courtroom being pushed open, an aid telling them that the judges are ready for them.

No, Kon only notices the warmth of Tim’s body against his, the heat of his breath against his neck, the tickle of his hair against Kon’s nose. Kon takes everything in, holding Tim as tight as he dares without hurting the other boy.

“It’s okay,” Kon whispers into Tim’s hair. “You’re safe. I promise you’re safe.”

Tim’s harsh, choked sob is all the answer he gets, and Kon just clutches him closer, holding him as though their lives depend on it.


	2. The Problem with Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.
> 
> (It's never really over.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this got out of hand, as normal.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented in chapter one, and this is to everyone who wanted to know what happened next. I appreciate you guys <3
> 
> As always, only one read through because it's currently three in the morning and I wrote this in one day.

**PART TWO**

Nowhere, Tim finds, is quite like Gotham.

New York City is just as loud, as bustling, as dirty as Gotham, sure, and people still don’t go out at night unless they’re in a group, but people do still go out. They’re not afraid of leaving the safety of their homes and being greeted with Joker venom or fear toxin. Yeah, there’s an occasional alien invasion or meta throwing a tantrum in Times Square, but New York is still…

Tim really doesn’t know how to explain it.

He never really thinks he’ll live anywhere other than Gotham. Dirty and dark as it is, Gotham is— _was_ —home. He’s Gotham born and bred, and while he’s raised in the high society, Tim has been crawling through the underbelly of the city since long before he dons the cape.

People say that you can take the people out of Gotham, but you can’t take Gotham out of the people. The city sinks it claws in, and even if someone manages to get out, no one leaves Gotham behind without any scars.

Tim should know.

He’s only been in New York for a few weeks. He hasn’t worn a mask in over a month. Yet, every time he leaves the safety of the penthouse, he’s on edge and wary, waiting for the cackle of a clown or the screech of birds or the fury of poisonous, sentient plants. He’s still surprised when he manages to get back home without a single incident, big or small.

Tim knows that his paranoia is even worse than that of the average Gothamite.

He’s seen the worst the city has to offer, but more than that, he pissed off the one person that no one wants to piss off.

Batman.

He’s finally stopped shuddering at the mention of the man’s name, and Ben, his new guardian, makes an effort to not mention anything related to vigilantes or the Waynes.

Tim has known Ben since he was a child. The man is an intern in R&D when Tim is barely more than a toddler, and when his parents drag him along to Drake Industries when they are in between nannies and can’t find a sitter, Ben is the poor soul who gets saddled with watching the CEO and CFO’s spoiled child.

Except, Tim is not a spoiled child.

Ben, whenever people ask about their relationship, recalls the story with a smile.

Tim is young and curious and brighter than anyone gives him credit for. Over the years, whenever Tim is at DI, Ben is the one keeping an eye on him. From the time he’s an intern, to a senior engineer to the youngest head of R&D on the eastern seaboard, Ben is there whenever Tim shows up at the DI offices, expected or unexpected. He tucks Tim in when he passes out on the break room couch, drives him home when it’s too late to call Mrs. Mac, is more of a father than Tim’s own.

It is because of this that when Bruce Wayne’s adoption of Tim Drake is invalidated and the man surrenders his parental rights, Benjamin Reese is the one who gets custody.

Money keeps the affair private, thankfully, and Tim has not seen Bruce since his testimony at the International Court of Justice. Has not been to the Manor or the Batcave since Alfred drugged him to get him into his suit and onto the Justice League’s javelin.

Ben handles everything, and what he can’t manage on his own, Lex Luthor takes care of.

That revelation still makes his head spin when Tim thinks about it too hard. Kon promises to explain everything when he has a chance, has already told him the basics over their new, secured comm line, but says that the rest he should explain in person. Tim will take it.

All he knows right now is that Lex is there for Kon and their team when no one else is. He’s the one to involve the ICJ, to call Ben when Tim says that he can’t go back to Gotham, to give them a place to stay until DI’s new headquarters are set up in New York, Ben and Tim’s penthouse included.

New York makes Tim nervous. Nightwing still has a semi-regular presence in the city, and it’s only a few hours away from Gotham. Ben assures him that it’s the best place to move Drake Industries for the moment, but that as soon as he’s able to, they’ll expand the company and move to oversee the expansion of the new west coast office. Tim has already seen him looking at properties in San Francisco. It scares him, if he’s honest, but it also warms him in an unfamiliar way.

Still, Ben listens to his concerns, and Tim is enrolled in an online program to continue his schooling, and he never leaves the penthouse alone. Tim doesn’t even like being in the penthouse alone, and tonight is the first time he’s been on his own after the sun has set.

Ben has to stay late at DI, yelling at board members as Tim’s proxy until he’s of age, telling them that he has not started the process of adopting Tim to control his majority of the company’s shares and that he’s not whisking Tim across the country to ‘alienate’ him from his peers.

Tim appreciates it, loves that Ben cares about him enough to advocate for him, even when the mess of Tim’s life has been dumped on him with almost no notice.

Still, he doesn’t like being home alone, which is why he’s triple checking the locks with his bo staff and panic button tucked in his sweatshirt pocket.

When he finishes securing the living room, Tim bites his lip and heads to the kitchen to warm up the soup that Ben made the night before. He’s listening to the steady hum of the microwave, tense and twitching even though he knows that he’s safe.

Tim knows he’s a paranoid bastard. His contingencies’ contingencies have contingencies. Which is why he’s been shrugging off the feeling that someone has been watching him all day. He’s checked the security system at least a dozen times, the cameras around the property even more.

He’s alone. Ben is only a few floors away. Lex came to the apartment himself to set up the security system, and he and Tim programmed it together. No matter his past with the man, Lex Luthor is a genius, and his tech is nothing to laugh at. Combine it with Tim’s knowledge and their security system is almost stronger than the Batcave’s.

Tim is gnawing at his lip as he pulls his soup down from the microwaves and plops down at the island’s breakfast bar to eat. He foregoes breathing exercises designed to calm his nervous system in favor of steaming chicken gnocchi soup. Tim’s eyes the window from the corner of his eye, tapping through _Twitter_ on his phone as he blows on his soup.

He’s avoided social media since his testimony. Kon tells him that the public has predominately sided with Robin and the Titans, but Tim keeps away from the news as he’s still coming to terms with the fact that Bruce didn’t trust him enough to talk to him, decided strapping him down was better than—

_No, bad Tim._

He nips that train of thought in the bud, shoving his spoon into his mouth. He doesn’t want to think about his childhood hero, not now. He’s almost expecting to see a news story about a new Robin hitting the streets, replacing him like he replaced Jason—his favorite Robin, who he looked to whenever he needed a reason to keep going.

 _No, bad Tim_.

Thinking of Jason will only make him think of Bruce, and Alfred ( _why_ , you’re supposed to keep Bruce in check when Robin can’t, you’re supposed to make sure I don’t get hurt—), and Dick (you haven’t said a word, and I know you’re not in space, so _where’s_ _my big brother_ when international news is breaking the story that Batman has committed war crimes against Robin—).

Tim scowls at his soup as he shuts his phone off and settles for poking at the floating pieces of potato. At least, poking at the floating pieces of potato until there’s a knock on the living room window.

The window that’s fifty stories above the ground.

Tim’s heart leaps into his throat as he turns to look out into the living room. It feels as though ice has flooded his veins when he sees Nightwing tapping on the specialized, supposedly vigilante-proof glass with a scowl on his face.

“Let me in, Tim!”

Tim feels like he’s swallowed sandpaper. His hands are shaking, and it takes him much longer than it should to reach into his pocket and slam down on his panic button.

“Let me in or I’m breaking the window!” Nightwing yells. “You know I will.”

Tim backs away from the living room, through the kitchen and towards the stairs. “Go away!”

There’s a bunker in the sublevels of the building, but that’s more than fifty-five floors down and the penthouse is supposed to be secure. He and Lex made it secure in case anyone got it into their head to come after him in his home.

“Tim!” Nightwing sounds like he can’t decide whether he’s angry or pleading. “Just open the window. Please.”

Tim finds himself shaking his head, fingers curling around his collapsible bo staff. Ben is meeting with the board on the forty-fifth floor. He’s probably taking the stairs, will probably be there in five to seven minutes depending on if Nightwing did anything to cut off access to the penthouse.

“Tim!”

Kon is living with Luthor in Metropolis. He can be here in four minutes if he flies at maximum speed. Longer, if he has to change or explain where he’s going.

Tim’s nearly at the door to the stairs when the glass shatters.

Oh, he and Lex are going to have to go back and upgrade everything in the building if Nightwing got in this easily.

Distantly, over the roaring in his ears, Tim realizes that he’s running. Nightwing, however, is prepared, warmed up, and in his suit. Tim is in his socks, not even the one with the little grippy bits on the bottom. He makes a note to go barefoot from now on.

Realistically, it’s not that surprising when Nightwing grabs his shoulder and whirls Tim around to face him. Still, he’s panicking, and his instinctual strike with his bo is sloppy. Nightwing knocks it out of his hands with ease, and the steel clatters against the hardwood floors.

“Tim,” Nightwing says, setting his heavy hands on Tim’s shoulders and trying to look at him in the eye. “What’s going on?”

Tim looks for a way out. “Like you don’t know!”

He goes for Nightwing’s bad knee, but he’s telegraphing and Nightwing moves faster, sliding his leg out of the way and using it to sweep Tim’s own from beneath him. Tim tips backward, gasping with the sudden tug of gravity. The air is knocked out of his lungs, and before he can take a breath, Nightwing is straddling him, pinning him down.

“Get off!”

“Not until you tell me what this is about.”

Tim tries to move his hands, and Nightwing drops more of his weight into the pin. Tim’s breath hitches.

“Read the news,” Tim spits.

“According to the news,” Nightwing says with equal venom, “Batman violated the Third Geneva Convention, which in case you forgot, relates to war crimes.”

Tim remains silent. Nightwing’s grip tightens incrementally.

“What happened?”

“Ask B,” Tim wheezes.

Nightwing’s eyes narrow. “I can’t get in contact with him. He’s still under probation and is being reviewed by a panel of psychologists. Alfred won’t say anything, only that your mind has been twisted or tampered with by _Luthor_.” The name is a sneer on his lips.

Tim feels a sudden surge of anger in his chest. “Lex has done more for me the past few weeks than Batman has in years.”

Nightwing’s jaw drops momentarily before he slams his mouth shut and glares. “What the hell happened, Tim? I’m getting tired of asking.”

“I’m getting tired of you being a dick,” Tim says, trying to kick out with his legs and just losing his breath in the process. Nightwing’s not letting up, only looking angrier. Tim’s finding it harder and harder to breathe.

“Last chance.”

“Before what?” Tim hisses. Tears are clouding his line of sight, everything beginning to blur around him. “You drag me back to the Manor? Where Bruce locked me up and drugged me while he and Superman tried to kidnap my best friend?” He bares his teeth. “Try it and Ben will have you charged with kidnapping faster than you can say Batman.”

It’s obviously not what Nightwing is expecting. The weight lets up, though only a little. Tim can draw a breath but he’s still wheezing and his lungs burn.

“What?”

Tim glares. “You heard me.”

Nightwing is shaking his head, hair flopping in front of his domino. “There must have been a misunderstanding,” he says. “B wouldn’t just lock you up. Agent A wouldn’t let him without good reason.”

“Agent A’s the one who stabbed me with the freaking needle!”

“I’m sure there’s a reason, Tim. B doesn’t hurt his Robins.”

“But he did!” Tim snarls. “I have the scars to prove it. All I was trying to do was keep my best friend safe, and B strapped me down until I rubbed my wrists raw trying to get out!”

“Tim…”

“Get off!”

Tim’s wiggling again, trying to get his hands loose. Nightwing looks stricken, though he’s not letting up, his hands still pressing Tim’s shoulders into the floor. Tim’s about to get his knee hiked up high enough to ram Nightwing in his civilian namesake when there’s a rush of wind and a small sonic boom that shatters the rest of the windows.

“Get off of him!”

Tim still can’t breathe, his chest heaving under Nightwing’s hold. His vision is blurred between the lack of oxygen and the tears he’s pretty sure are slipping down his cheeks. There are words exchanged, sharp and angry, but Tim can’t make them out from the roaring in his ears. The weight on his chest is gone a moment later, and Tim draws in a breath, heaving as he tries to regain his senses.

There’s the sound of something crashing, and Tim looks up, only to have Ben kneeling down in front of him. His lips are moving, eyes wide. It takes Tim a moment to hear him.

“—so sorry. I tried to get here, but the stairs were blocked and the elevators were down. C’mon, Tim, kiddo, look at me.” Tim catches his eye, and Ben smiles. “There you are. Are you okay?”

Tim nods slowly, taking a moment to look around the room. He freezes when he finds Nightwing on the ground, Kon pressing him down with a foot on his chest. Tim feels Ben’s arms circle his shoulders, trying to tug him back as he watches.

“Stay away from him,” Kon snarls. “I don’t care what you say, you don’t come near him unless he calls you and asks you to.”

Nightwing tries to break the hold, but Kon merely presses him down further.

“I just want to know what happened—”

Kon’s glare turns even sharper. “Figure it out like everyone else. I’m sure the League would _love_ to explain. Or the hundreds of news stations running the story.”

Nightwing manages to hit Kon in the back of the knee, and Kon jumps back as the limb crumbles beneath him. He hovers above the ground, forming a wall between Nightwing and Tim. Nightwing scowls but doesn’t make a move to get past him. Instead, he peers around Kon’s shoulder, locking eyes with Tim. He winces when Tim’s breath hitches, Ben’s arms curling tighter around the boy still on the floor.

“I’m sorry I ambushed you,” Nightwing says, voice unsteady like he can’t quite believe what’s happened. “I’ll do some research of my own, and we’ll talk later, okay?”

Tim doesn’t respond, and Kon steps in front of Nightwing’s gaze, cutting him off completely.

“Get the hell out. _Now_.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and Tim sees that when Kon tenses and curls his hands into fists, Nightwing raises his hands and backs up. He takes his grapple from his belt and jumps from the window.

Once they’re sure he’s gone, Kon speaks into the comm in his ear, something Tim can’t hear, though he knows Kon is probably telling Cassie and Bart that the situation is handled. When he’s done, he turns around and falls next to Tim on the floor.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Tim shakes his head, ignoring the full body tremble that doesn’t show any sign of slowing down. Kon frowns, eyes flickering up to meet Ben’s, and Tim releases a deep breath.

“His pin made it hard to breathe. I might have some bruises from the fall and how he had my hands.”

Kon glowers but takes a sharp breath to calm himself. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

Tim nods, looking away from his friend’s face, and Tim scowls at the sight of the windows. Shattered glass litters the living room floor and there’s a dent in the hardwood where Kon was holding Nightwing down. Tim nearly winces. Dick will be waking up with bruised ribs in the morning. He honestly doesn’t know how to feel about it. Thankfully, other than the windows and floor, there’s nothing else broken or damaged.

Ben sighs behind him, and Tim glances up at the man, who still has Tim wrapped in his arms.

“So, I guess we might be setting up that west coast expansion office sooner rather than later.”

Tim finds himself laughing, and even Kon cracks a grin.

“Yeah,” he says. “That sounds pretty good.”

Ben nods firmly, pulling Tim closer to his chest. Tim, still not used to physical affection despite his team and Ben (and Dick— _No, bad Tim_ ) practically drowning him with it. Still, Ben is warm and the wind from the city is cold. Ben is safe, so Tim allows himself to sink into the man’s hold and close his eyes.

Ben just tucks Tim’s head underneath his chin and gives him a comforting squeeze. Kon smiles at them from where he sits mere inches away, close enough that he can still feel the shift in the air whenever Tim moves. He clears his throat regretfully.

“What are you guys going to do for the night?”

Ben frowns, glancing between Kon and Tim. “I don’t think we should stay here. One, the windows are broken and that’s just… bad. Two, I don’t trust Nightwing’s word. Even if he doesn’t come back, there no doubt the League knows we’re here and there’s a chance they can get in.”

Tim winces against Ben’s chest. He sighs and pulls away, settling on the floor and folding his hands in his lap. “Nightwing will keep his word,” he says. “I don’t think the League will pull something with the UN watching them and the public as upset as they are. They can’t afford any more bad press.”

“Still,” Ben frowns. “I don’t think we should stay.”

Tim nods in agreement, biting his lip as he thinks. Kon clears his throat.

“You guys could come to Metropolis?” he offers. “Lex says that Superman is staying in the Watchtower right now, and we were planning on skipping out in a few days until we know more about what’s got his cape in a twist.”

Ben and Tim share a glance. Tim shrugs.

“I mean, it’s not like we’ve really settled in or anything. My stuff can be packed in five minutes.”

Ben runs a hand through his hair. “I haven’t even unpacked,” he admits. “I can have our stuff shipped to an apartment in San Francisco, and we can fly out once it’s there. I’ve already had the lawyers write up a contract for the expansion office, so it won’t look too suspicious when we get there.”

Tim’s lips pull into a small frown. His hands leave his lap as he wraps his arms around his belly. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey now,” Ben says, “none of that. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Tim doesn’t say anything, just holds himself tighter and stares at the floor. Kon slowly shuffles forward until he can throw an arm around Tim’s shoulder. Tim stiffens at first, but quickly slumps into Kon’s side, letting the other boy support most of his weight. He finds himself burying his face in Kon’s shoulder.

“He’s right,” Kon says, pressing his nose into Tim’s hair, breathing in deeply. “The only people to blame here are the ones who chased us down and locked you up with no explanation. They’re adults, heroes, and they know better.”

Tim’s exhales shakily but nods his head. He gives himself a moment before pulling away and pushing himself to his feet.

“Guess I better get packing them. Good thing I saved all those boxes you told me to get rid of.” Ben huffs a laugh and shakes his head. A small smile grows on Tim’s lips. “You driving or is Kon taking us—”

“Nope,” Ben says, holding his arms up to form an X. “I’m driving. You’re riding along and taking a nap. Kon, you’re welcome to join us or fly home and let Lex know what’s going on.”

Kon shrugs. “I’ll ride with you guys. I can call Lex on the way.”

Ten minutes later, all of Ben and Tim’s belongings are packed away in boxes and stacked in a pile in the master bedroom, far away from the broken windows, and Tim and Kon are splayed out in the back seat as Ben steers them into New York’s evening traffic, heading south toward Metropolis.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Ben glances at the boys from the rearview mirror and finds Tim fast asleep on Kon’s shoulder. Kon has an arm around Tim, leaning his head against Tim’s own, watching the boy as he sleeps. His eyes flicker up and meet Ben’s through the mirror, and Ben simply offers him a smile.

(They mutually ignore the red flush coloring the tips of Kon’s ears. Ben will tease him about it later, when everything is a bit lighter and their worries aren’t as heavy.)

/\/\/\

Kon is staring into the mug in front of him with a frown.

He hates the taste of coffee, even when Tim tries to dump sugar, cream, or even Ready Whip into it to get him to drink it.

But the first night he, Cassie, and Bart spend with Lex Luthor while he files for an emergency hearing with the ICJ, he finds Kon pacing in his bedroom and chewing a hole through his lip. Lex sits him down in the kitchen and makes him a cup of hot chocolate, then stays with him as he nurses a cup of coffee and listens to Kon ramble about his worries.

When they get back from the Hague and Kon moves in with Lex, it becomes something of a habit. When neither of them can sleep or when they’re up together in the morning for breakfast, Lex drinks his coffee and Kon gets a hot chocolate.

But Lex isn’t sitting with him right now, because he and Tim’s guardian—Ben—are having an ‘adult’ conversation. It must be serious, because when he tries to listen in, Lex has already turned on the white noise generator to block Kon’s super hearing.

Which is why Kon is scowling into his cocoa and trying to ignore the ringing in his over-sensitive ears.

Tim is still sleeping, surprisingly. He hasn’t even stirred since he passed out in the car on the way to Metropolis the night before. Kon has never seen Tim sleep for so long. He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. Probably both. Kon’s best guess is that Tim has been too busy being an anxious, paranoid bastard the past few weeks to actually sleep like he’s supposed to.

He’s happy that Tim is finally sleeping, but his stomach is still churning in an uncomfortable mix of anger and anxiety from the night before. Hearing Tim’s distress beacon sound makes his blood run cold. Cassie and Bart are in his ear the entire five minutes it takes him to tug on his boots and fly to New York, while he pulls Nightwing off of Tim’s chest and tells him to leave. He still feels off kilter, and his tossing and turning last night definitely does not help.

Kon is about to give up and go close his eyes on the couch when he hears light footsteps heading toward the kitchen. He spins around on his stool just as Tim walks through the door, yawning as he rubs at his eyes. Kon smiles despite himself.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty.”

Tim blearily glares at him, then gives up when he’s pulled into another yawn. “Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively. “Do you know where I can find coffee?”

He answers his own question and his eyes light up as he spots the coffee pot sitting on the counter, still half full and steaming. Kon watches in amusement as Tim pokes around the kitchen as he tries to find a mug. His hair is sticking up in every direction, and he’s still in his pajamas. Kon is eighty percent sure that the sweatshirt that is practically swallowing Tim whole went missing from his closet a few months ago. He snorts as Tim has to stand on his tip toes when he finds the cabinet that holds the mugs, all of which are on the top shelf.

Tim glares at him half-heartedly once he has a mug in hand. He huffs and turns away to pour his coffee, bringing it to his lips and inhaling before he takes a sip. Kon raises an eyebrow when Tim practically melts.

“Lex has an amazing taste in coffee,” he mumbles, taking another sip. “Really, really amazing taste in coffee.”

Kon does laugh at him then, but Tim—too occupied with his drink—doesn’t react. Kon takes a sip of his cocoa, wrinkling his nose when he realizes that it’s gone cold. He’s about to get up and offer to make breakfast when the white noise generator turns off and Lex and Ben re-enter the kitchen.

“Good morning, Tim,” Lex says.

Tim glances up from his coffee for the first time since getting his hands on it. “Good morning, Mr. Luthor. Thank you for letting us stay here.”

Lex waves a hand. “It wasn’t any trouble,” he says. “You and Ben are always welcome here.”

Tim hums, but it doesn’t escape Kon’s notice that he’s suddenly wide awake, standing up straight, and at some point, found time to fix his hair into something somewhat more reasonable than his bedhead. He bites the inside of his cheek.

Even after nearly two months of living with the man, Kon still finds himself hesitating around Lex. Eavesdropping on his conversations, following his heartbeat to see is he’s going where he says he is. Lex always takes it in stride. Kon doesn’t expect his friends to suddenly sing kumbaya with the man. He’s honestly surprised that Tim is as open with Lex as he is. Likely because without Lex’s interference, the Titans would have either been apprehended by the League or still hiding out in the underground apartment while Tim remained locked in the Batcave.

Still, it makes everything a little awkward between them.

“So,” Ben says, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “Lex and I were talking, and I think it’d be good for you boys to get out for a little bit while we finalize the details about heading to San Francisco. Go get some brunch and bring some back for us old farts.”

Tim’s brows are furrowed, and even Kon’s lips have tipped down in concern. He shoots a short look at Lex.

“You really think it’s a good idea to put us on the streets when all of the League’s problems center around the two of us at the moment?”

Kon nods in agreement. “Yeah, that seems like we’re asking to be attacked by Big Bastard Blue.”

Tim snorts into his coffee. Lex exhales slowly, but there’s still a small quirk to his lips. Even Ben is smiling.

“I’ll have Mercy escort you,” Lex says. “Superman is still on the Watchtower, and no Leaguers should try and engage you as civilians. Especially not when one of you is out as Tim Drake.”

Kon sees Tim wince. He knows that while it hasn’t made waves outside of Gotham, Tim’s adoption by Bruce Wayne being invalidated has caused a media storm in the city. When he considers the conspiracies still circulating about Bruce’s second adopted kid—the previous Robin—it’s not really a surprise.

“Fair point,” Tim gives in. “I could use the fresh air.”

Ben grins at him. “Wow, you admitting that you need vitamin D to live? What alternate universe have I stumbled upon?”

Kon thinks from the look on Tim’s face, if Lex weren’t in the room, he’d be sticking his tongue out.

Mercy takes them to a small café on the outskirts of the city, which is a relatively decent drive from Lex’s penthouse. Tim is fidgety once they’re in the car, and Kon can’t find anything to distract him, so they fall into an awkward silence that isn’t normal for them. Mercy must take, well, mercy on them, because she starts asking Tim questions about the programming he and Lex talked about. Tim lights up like a Christmas.

He and Mercy go back and forth about coding and other technology, using words that fly straight over Kon’s head. He doesn’t mind though, not when Tim’s smiling and has lost some of the tension in his shoulders.

By the time they get to the café, Tim has relaxed enough to lean back into Kon’s side, and even if he’s still scanning the area like a Leaguer might jump out and bite him at any second, he’s breathing easy and has tucked his hands into his pockets.

The café itself is cute, a small little place named _Lina’s_ with divine looking muffins. Kon laughs at the look on Tim’s face when he sees they have a chocolate muffin with coffee-flavored frosting. It’s not quite breakfast food, but Kon will take it.

They pick up breakfast sandwiches and some extra muffins for Lex and Ben. Mercy sits two tables away with her laptop and a black coffee resting in front of her. Tim and Kon take a small little corner booth, the kind with a single bench in the shape of a wedge. Their legs end up pressed together as they lean over Kon’s phone, watching vigilante wannabe fail videos and nibbling on their food. Tim, after a somewhat pleading look from Kon, stops after his second cup of coffee and asks for a water.

They’re there for nearly an hour, until long after Kon’s single cocoa has gone cold. Mercy eyes them occasionally before turning back to her laptop, and Kon tells himself he’s imagining the small smile on her lips.

(He’s not.)

/\/\/\

Tim and Ben fly to San Francisco the next day in the Drake Industries company jet. Normally they’d fly through a regular airline, but since Nightwing’s stunt at the New York penthouse, they’re all on edge even more than before. Ben wants to be as safe as possible.

Tim thinks flying commercially might be safer because the League’s public relations are already shit, and attacking a plane full of civilians for a teenage boy would be signing a metaphorical death sentence.

Lex promises he’ll keep eyes on the jet as it’s en route so that if something happens, he’ll know.

Tim doesn’t think the League is stupid enough to try anything in the first place. Not with the United Nations just waiting for an excuse to take them on, to make sure that there is some kind of oversight to the inner workings of the JLA. If not in general, at least when it comes to underage heroes. The public outcry of another attempt on a young hero might be enough to discredit them alone.

Tim doesn’t want that. The JLA, at its core, is a good thing, likely the only thing that has kept Earth from being destroyed or colonized by extra-terrestrials already (though not for lack of trying). Having a way to hold hundreds of superpowered heroes and vigilantes accountable wouldn’t necessarily be bad, simply like a system of checks and balances.

He hopes that the experience with Batman and Superman is a one off. For all he knows, the rest of the League might be as angry as the public is. Many of them were mad enough when Superman refused to look after Kon right away, rejected a boy who had done nothing other than exist. A lot of Leaguers already find Batman creepy as hell, and some even consider him insane. (A high-functioning sociopath, but who’s asking?)

So Tim is an anxious, paranoid bastard but he’s not worried this time.

Logically, everything is too tumultuous at the moment for anyone to try anything. Tim’s safe, will have time to get his head on straight before he has to worry about the League or picking a new identity or having to face Bruce.

Of course, he really should have considered that nothing about this situation is logical in the first place. That’s what he gets for letting his guard down for the first time in as long as he can remember.

/\/\/\

San Francisco is bright and loud and smells of the sea.

DI’s new west coast office looks out across the bay, and though Tim and Ben don’t move into the penthouse on the top floor (thanks, Dick), their garden apartment is just a few streets away with a direct pathway down to the beach. Lex and Tim improve the security system from the New York penthouse, and Kon and the others drop by for a house warming party that is actually just a big sleepover in the living room.

Tim stays in online school, even when Ben subtly nudges him to look into one of the brick and mortar schools in the neighborhood. He promises to think about it, and he actually does. He also reaches out to Ives to assure the boy that he is, in fact, alive. They promise to talk when they can, and Tim feels lighter than he has in a long time.

Which means, of course, it’s time for everything to go to shit.

/\/\/\

It’s his first weekend back at Titan’s Tower since he overheard Superman call Kon ‘Experiment 13’ while Batman agreed to lie to him, then locked him up for protecting his best friend.

Tim has spent time at the Tower since he and Ben moved to San Francisco full time, but Ben’s usually come with him or he’s only been there for the day. Equally as often, the Titan’s crash at the apartment and have movie marathons in the living room.

Tim’s room is exactly as he left it, albeit dusty, and he finds that coming back to the Tower feels like coming home to Ben. It’s still safe, still not tainted. Tim loves this, relishes it.

Together, the Titans head to the training rooms, and though Tim hasn’t exactly ‘trained’ in the past six weeks, he hasn’t stopped his exercise regimen either. Still, they all agree to spars that are hand-to-hand only and the match ends the second someone hits the ground.

By the time he’s pinned Bart, been knocked on his ass by Cassie, and hits the ground at the exact same second Kon does, he’s sweaty and exhausted. He feels amazing.

“My dudes,” Bart says from the floor, where he’s still recovering from his last match with Cassie, “I dunno about you, but I’m ready to hit the showers and go to bed.”

“You big baby,” Cassie gripes. “It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

Bart picks his head up off the floor to glare at her. “Says the demigoddess.” His head thunks back down, cushioned by the mat.

Tim laughs. “I vote for showers, ice cream, and a nap,” he says, rolling to the side and untangling his legs from where they got trapped with Kon’s during a botched leg sweep.

“Agreed,” Kon says, pushing himself off of the floor and brushing the dust off of his clothes. “I vote—”

“No!” Bart, Cassie, and Tim say at the same time.

Kon frowns. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Tim levels him with a flat look. “We are not marathoning _FRIENDS_ while we stuff ourselves with ice cream and nap.”

Kon rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Tim huffs and pushes himself to his feet as well. Cassie and Bart follow them, and they make their way to the locker rooms as they try to decide between _Star Trek_ , the rom-com Cassie has been trying to get them to watch for months, or some alien detective show from the 90s.

They still haven’t decided by the time they’re sitting on the couch with ice cream in their laps. Cassie is in the middle of arguing why _Definitely, Maybe_ is adorable and they should get over themselves and watch it when the alarm echoes throughout the Tower.

Bart groans. “You’re kidding me.”

“A meta’s trashing the historical district,” Cassie says, glaring at the notification on her phone.

“Again?”

“Unfortunately.”

Tim pats her knee in solidarity, beginning to grab their bowls from their laps. “I’ll put these in the freezer as you guys suit up. I’ll head to the war room and run comms when I’m done.”

“Not suiting up?” Bart asks.

Tim shakes his head. “Don’t have a new identity yet. And I haven’t exactly kept up my target practice.” The other three roll their eyes. Tim smiles sweetly. “I’ll direct you guys from the Tower, all safe and sound while I’m wrapped up in my blanket.”

“Smart ass,” Kon says, sounding fond.

Tim beams. “You know it.” He waves his hand at them. “Now go on. Shoo. The historical district is crying out for you.”

Cassie elbows him in the ribs as the three of them disappear to suit up. Tim watches them go before shaking himself out of it and moving to put their bowls in the freezer. The ice cream can wait. It always does.

He heads up to the war room, blanket wrapped around his shoulders like he said it would be. Winter’s on its way and the wind from the bay is cold. Sue him.

The battle can hardly be called a battle. The meta is a young adult who just developed the ability to shoot fire from her palms and decided the best thing to do with her life is to torch the store that once fired her mother. Admirable, in an odd sort of way, but still illegal.

The Titans are more annoyed than sore, and the worst damage is the slight singe to the sleeve of Kon’s jacket. His pout when he sees it makes Tim cackle from behind his screens. They’re already back to debating what movie they’re going to watch when a red dot appears on the map displayed on one of Tim’s monitors. He frowns.

“Hey, guys,” he says into the comm.

“Yeah?” Cassie asks, huffing about something Bart whispered to her seconds before.

“You have incoming.”

“Who?”

Tim swallows. “They’re moving too fast for my satellite to get a proper picture, but I see a red cape.”

“That could be a multitude of heroes,” Cassie says.

“Yeah,” says Kon, “but how many people in red capes have we pissed off lately?”

Tim’s fingers are flying across the keyboard. “They’re about fifty miles out. I have no idea how I didn’t catch them sooner.” He swears. “At their speed, they have an ETA of four and a half minutes.”

“Shit,” Cassie hisses. “Probably a super then.”

“It might be Captain Marvel?” Bart tries.

Tim shakes his head even though none of them will see it. “His cape is white, KF. I just got a new upload. You’ve got Supergirl heading towards your location. SB, you might want to get out of there.”

“Fat chance,” Kon growls.

“Not the time, SB,” Tim warns. “We all know how she gets when she’s angry. We gotta think damage control here. At least get out of the city.”

“Are you sure it’s her?” Cassie asks.

“About ninety-four percent,” he says.

“Which with him probably means a hundred percent chance,” says Bart.

Tim just purses his lips as his fingers continue to fly across the keyboard. “I’m serious, SB. Get out of there. If you’re going to duke it out, at least do it where there aren’t any civilians around.”

A sonic boom echoes through the comm. Tim flinches and curses loudly. She’s early.

“Too late,” Kon says.

“I’ve noticed, thanks.”

Tim adjusts the camera feed until he can see everything at once instead of being zoomed in on his team. Sure enough, Supergirl is standing in the middle of the road, pavement crushed and crumbling beneath her feet as her chest heaves. She’s absolutely seething.

“You little bastard,” she hisses. Then louder, “I told him he shouldn’t waste his breath, told him not to give you a chance, and look where we are now! I was right!” Supergirl straightens, and when she does, her eyes are glowing red. “You’re nothing more than an abomination!”

Tim’s heart is thudding in his throat, and he can only stare in horror as his team circle around each other, facing off against the furious super.

“And that stupid, little boy!” Supergirl continues. “If only he had listened, then we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place!”

_Oh, shit._

Tim’s stomach has dropped to his shoes. He’s already on his feet. In nothing more than jeans and the sweatshirt he threw on after his shower, his utility belt, and a spare domino that he barely remembers to throw over his eyes, Tim’s on the fastest motorcycle that he keeps at the Tower. If he takes the underground tunnels, he can be in the historical district in eight to nine minutes.

Kon, meanwhile, bares his teeth in a snarl. “You leave him out of this! We’re not the ones who lied; who deceived their allies for no reason! And for what?!”

Supergirl shouts. “You idiot! We were trying to protect them from _you_! And now you’re still on the loose and the League is being split down the middle because of a couple of ungrateful children.”

“Careful who you call children,” Cassie says harshly. “Last I checked, you only got a few years on us, _Supergirl_.” She grins at the other girl’s angry yell. “Superboy is our friend and our teammate. We weren’t going to abandon him to people who never gave a shit about him.”

“You foolish little girl,” Supergirl says. “Have you listened to nothing I said? We were trying to protect you!”

“From what?!” Kon yells.

“From you!”

“Cause that’s specific!”

Supergirl’s eyes flash a brilliant red. “You are an abomination,” she repeats. “Your very existence threatens anyone around you. We wanted to keep your friends safe, and all you did is drag them closer to the man who’s responsible for you! You twisted their minds, tore them from their mentors! You should be ashamed—”

“Wait, wait a second here,” Bart interrupts her, taking a step in front of Cassie and Kon. “We’re back on the Lex thing again? Man, I thought we were over that already. Yeah, cloning someone by mixing their DNA with yours without their consent is a shitty thing to do, and yeah, he may be a supervillain on occasion, but right now he’s acting a hell of a lot better than you.”

Supergirl actually stumbles. _“What?”_

Kon glares at her. “Superman never wanted me; I get that. He gave me a name and called it a day. I’m the clone. I get that. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a person. I am more than Experiment 13, and if he has something to say to me, he should say it to my face instead of ambushing me after he invited me to his family’s home!”

Supergirl practically growls. “You know nothing!”

“And you do?”

“More than you,” Supergirl says. “I know where my loyalties lie.”

“So do I,” Kon spits. “They’re with my team and with my family.” Supergirl opens her mouth, but Kon doesn’t let her say a word. “I don’t mean you and Big Bastard Blue. I mean the only man who’s ever given a shit about me!”

“You consider Lex Luthor your family?” Supergirl screeches. “You—”

“Don’t you dare,” Cassie cuts her off. “You don’t get to judge someone for their family when you’ve never been there for yours.”

“He is not my family!”

“Then it’s not any of your business!”

The squeal of tires interrupts whatever Supergirl is going to say. They all turn to glance down the road, and the Titans instantly tense as Supergirl snarls in rage.

“You!”

“Rob, what are you doing here?!”

“You idiot!”

“You should have stayed home with your freaking blanket!”

Tim ignores all of them, stepping directly in between the two groups with a fierceness that they’ve never seen outside the cape. Kon can’t help but think that it looks wrong on him like this, in jeans and a sweatshirt like he’s just a regular kid out on a Friday night. The utility belt and the domino look both like he was born to wear them and like he slid them on like a child playing dress up. It’s almost like a paradox, like Tim both belongs to the mask and doesn’t, and no one knows who he really is—where the mask ends and Tim begins.

Kon hates it. He knows Tim, and Tim should not have to look like this, shouldn’t have to feel like this.

And yet, he can only watch as his best friend steps between him and his kind of cousin who has always hated him. Puts himself in front of an angry super with no armor, no weapons, nothing but the belt wrapped around his waist.

And Kon knows Tim. Knows he can do damage with nothing but his wits and his bare hands. But this is Supergirl, who is known for losing her temper and punching first and thinking later.

“Back the fuck off,” Tim snarls, and Kon has to stop as his breath catches in his throat. Because that voice is completely and utterly Tim, but underlined with something sharp and dangerous. Something that tells him that Tim’s enemies should be very, very afraid of him.

“You traitor!” Supergirl screams, ignoring him. “How dare you turn your back on your mentor? The man who has given everything for you—”

“That man,” Tim spits, “hasn’t given me shit. I put myself in the damn cape, and I made myself who I am through sweat, blood, and goddamn tears. Some of my scars are from that man, so _don’t you dare_ defend him.”

Supergirl gapes at him, eyes flaring as the cement grinds beneath her feet. Tim bares his teeth.

“Go home, Supergirl. You got your opinion across. You made your thoughts known. Now get out of our city.”

“Who do you think you are?”

Tim shrugs. “I’m a little busy figuring that out honestly, but that’s not any of your business.” His hand falls to rest on his belt. “Now leave. Don’t make me pull out the kryptonite.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Supergirl says. “Not with your abomination standing right there.”

“I think Superboy would understand.”

Supergirl seems to hesitate, but before anyone can say or do anything, the ground shakes beneath their feet as something—someone— else slams into the ground.

Tim can’t breathe, body tensing as freaking Superman rises to his feet. He nearly takes a step back but grits his teeth and centers himself. He forces himself to look up and meet the man’s eyes. The once calm, kind, soothing blue is now iced over in anger, and on some level, Tim is reminded of his mother. He pushes the thought away.

“Hey there, Superman,” he says. “Here to crash the party?”

Superman just frowns. “Batman is very worried about you.”

“Not my problem.”

“Son,” Superman says, “I don’t think that you quite understand what you’re doing. Batman is only trying to protect you.”

“So I’ve heard,” Tim says dryly. “He has a pretty shit way of showing it.”

Superman takes a step forward. Tim feels his hackles rise, and a quick glance behind him tells him that Cassie and Bart have pushed Kon behind them, both ready to launch into the fight and protect Kon should they need to. He glares at the man people call a hero.

“Take one more step and I’ll send you to your knees.”

Superman raises a brow. “Really now, I’m sure there are better ways to solve this—”

“Not lying to us would have been a great start,” Tim says.

Superman just sighs. “It was not your burden to handle.”

“Try again. My best friend, my teammate, my mentor, my business.”

Superman locks eyes with Tim. “We received credible intel that Lex Luthor had implanted a program in… _Kon’s_ … subconscious, and he was planning on activating it to attack my family as a personal attack against me. We were going to run a brain scan to search for any underlying programming.”

Kon’s shout can be heard throughout the district, echoing off of the old buildings as he pushes through Cassie and Bart until he stands next to Tim. His fists are clenched, teeth grinding together as anger and hurt roll through him in one massive, painful wave.

“You should have talked to me!” Kon says. “I would have let you run your tests if you’d just taken the time to explain what was going on.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Superman says calmly. “We didn’t know what Luthor might do if we took you, how you might react if he activated the programming. We were trying to keep all of you safe.”

“Fuck that,” Kon spits. “Just fuck that. You want to protect us? So you think that trying to kidnap me, trying to lock Rob up and making all of us go on the run was the best way to solve the issue?”

“None of that was ever our intention.”

Kon scowls. “And lying to us was?”

Superman purses his lips and doesn’t answer. Tim steps back in front of Kon, even though he knows that Kon has invulnerable skin and he has nothing but a sweatshirt. His hand rests on his utility belt as he glares at the two supers.

“It’s time for you to leave,” he says. “You are not helping anyone here, especially not yourselves. Just go home.”

Superman looks down at him like he’s truly disappointed. Tim expects that. What he doesn’t expect is Supergirl’s scream of rage as she rushes forward, blurring because of her speed until suddenly, she has her hand around his throat and is lifting him off of his feet.

“You little rat,” she hisses.

Tim chokes. His eyes are already tearing up as his lungs burn. He tries to kick her away, to reach for his utility belt. All he has to do is crack the lead-lined compartment open and she’ll go down. Supergirl sees him move and simply pats his hand away. Her fingers go tighter around his throat.

Tim can hear his team screaming, hears Superman telling her “that’s enough” though he does nothing to intervene. He’s pretty sure that Kon is shouting something about three seconds to put him down before he breaks her arms.

 _Huh_ , Tim can’t help but think, _the warning is new_.

It turns out that no one has a chance to do anything before there’s a bang, followed by something whizzing through the air, and then Supergirl is screaming, dropping Tim to the ground as she clutches her right knee, collapsing into a ball on the concrete.

Tim feels hands on his shoulders, tugging him back, and he flinches before he hears Kon’s voice in his ear.

“C’mon, Tim, breathe for me. There you go, c’mon you gotta breathe.”

Tim does the best he can, ignoring the throbbing pain behind his eyes as he draws a deep breath. As his vision starts to return to normal, he finds himself staring at Supergirl. She’s curled into a ball on the street, sobbing as she holds onto her knee, red blood staining her hands and mixing with her tears.

That doesn’t make any sense, though. Bullets just bounce off of Kryptonian skin unless…

“And here I thought I’d be using these on the Superbrat.”

Tim glances behind him, watching as someone he doesn’t recognize drops from a nearby roof. They’re only dressed in combat pants, a regular t-shirt, and a leather jacket that’s similar to Kon’s. And apparently, Tim thinks as he looks at their face, wearing an eerily familiar red domino.

Later, he’ll notice the strip of white hair and the many, many guns the man has strapped to his body.

Now, Tim can only see the mask of his predecessor, shielding a familiar face that’s nearly three years too old.

“What…?”

The man struts forward, carelessly tapping his gun against his thigh.

“Damn, Replacement. I come to teach you a lesson, but instead I find out that you got fucked over by B too. Huh, who would’ve guessed?”

He casts a bored glare in Supergirl’s direction. Superman is now by her side, supporting her as she tries to stop her tears, firmly pressing both hands to her wounded knee.

“Do you know how much of a bitch it is to get kryptonite-laced bullets? How many strings I had to pull?” He shakes his head. “Don’t make me regret this, Replacement. It seems like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Tim openly stares at him. “Jason?”

The man scoffs. “Who else, dipshit?” He shakes his head, though there’s a faint smile playing at his lips. “Tell ya what, I’ll help you out here, and we can hash out everything later, kay?”

Kon’s gripping his shoulders, and Tim can only lean back into him, mouth opening and closing as he tries to find something, anything, to say.

“Okay?”

Jason nods. “Cool.” He turns to face the two Supers. Superman looks furious, while Supergirl looks about ready to pass out. “So, you gonna scram or what? Do I need to shoot you too?”

“I don’t know who you think you are—”

“I’ll give you three seconds,” Jason says. “One.”

“How dare you pretend to be him?”

Jason tilts his head to the side, scowling. “Two.”

“You disgrace his memory! Disgrace Batman’s teachings! You despicable—”

“And three.”

There are two more loud bangs. The Titans watch in horrified fascination as two red spots begin to spread across Superman’s left thigh. The man looks down, blinking in shock before he collapses to his other knee.

“How dare you?” he says through gritted teeth. “How dare you disgrace that boy’s memory by pretending to be him and doing something he’d never do.”

“There’s not any pretending to it,” Jason says flatly. “Now I’d pick up little miss super and fly home to Metropolis to take care of those. I know you don’t usually feel pain with that invulnerable skin and all, but here’s a hint: bullet wounds hurt and bleed like a bitch.” He grins. “Tick, tock Big Blue.”

Superman says nothing, merely scoops Supergirl into his arms and pushes off the ground with his good leg, flying into the air and disappearing into the night. Tim barely watches them go before he turns back to face the other man.

“You just shot Superman.”

Jason holsters the gun. “Yup.”

“Holy shit,” Bart whispers, somewhere in between horrified and awed as he and Cassie inch closer to the others, careful not to provoke the man, until they’re crouching beside Kon and Tim. “You shot Superman.”

“Yup,” Jason repeats. “Thought we already established that. Now that that’s over,” He looks directly at Tim. “I’d like to have a word, if you don’t mind.”

The Titans are instantly in front of Tim, Kon’s arms wrapped securely around his shoulders and waist as Cassie and Bart plant themselves in place like human shields. It looks like Jason rolls his eyes from beneath the domino, but no one can tell due to the stupid white out lenses.

“Chill out,” he says. “I haven’t decided yet, but I’m pretty sure I’m not going to stab him anymore. I feel like I’m missing something here, and I want to figure it out.”

The Titans ease back somewhat, but their guards are still up, not discounting the possibility of an attack. Tim can’t stop staring at the man. He shakes his head to knock himself out of it.

“I thought you already knew B was an uncommunicative asshole,” he says. “That’s pretty much where all of this comes from.”

Jason snorts. “That and, what did you guys call him, Big Bastard Blue?”

Tim’s pretty sure he never called Superman that while on the street, but he’ll worry about it later. Instead, he echoes Jason’s earlier words. “Yup.”

Jason just laughs. “I think we might just get along, Replacement.” He tips his head in acknowledgment. “I’m gonna get out of here before the cameras come out from their hiding places, but I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

Tim nods unsurely. “Yeah?”

“Don’t sound so weirded out by it,” Jason says. “I want to know what B did to fuck up another Robin. We can talk about it over chilidogs or something.”

With that, Jason is pulling one of the multiple guns from his person, one smaller and lighter than the others, and fires a grapple line, taking off into the night. Tim watches him go, staring even after he’s disappeared.

“Did that just happen or did I hit my head at some point?”

“That just happened,” Cassie says, tension easing from her shoulders as she faces Tim and Kon once again.

“Uh huh,” Bart says. “I still don’t think I understand a hundred percent of what just happened.”

“Me either,” Tim admits. The exhaustion is hitting him as the adrenaline fades. All of the fight goes out of him, and he goes lax, Kon’s arms becoming the only thing keeping him upright. “I dunno about you guys, but I think we post pone movie night until tomorrow. I just wanna sleep.”

“Agreed,” says Bart. “But I still have enough time for ice cream before bed.”

Tim laughs and ignores just how much it hurts his throat. Cassie clasps him on the shoulder and gives him a comforting squeeze.

“We’ll talk about you facing off against two pissed off supers in nothing but a sweatshirt later,” she says. “Bart and I will head back to the Tower, and you can send your bike back on autopilot and hitch a ride with SB.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

Cassie looks at him blankly. “No. C’mon, Bart.”

Bart grins at them and waves before taking off in a blur as Cassie lifts off into the sky. Tim watches them go before regretfully pulling away from Kon.

“You cool flying me back?” he asks. “I can always just drive.”

Kon stares at him. Tim feels his cheeks flush.

“What?”

Kon merely shakes his head before pulling Tim into a bone-crushing hug, careful to tuck away the super strength so he doesn’t actually break any bones.

“You idiot,” he whispers into Tim’s hair.

“Uh… okay?”

Kon shakes his head, breathing deeply and not letting go of Tim, even though he practically pulled the boy into his lap with the hug. Kon opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, there’s a shout from behind them.

“Tim!”

Tim pulls away, his brows pulling together in confusion.

“Tim!”

He catches sight of a running figure, and his eyes widen. “Ben?”

The man reaches them, falling to his knees and skidding across the pavement until he’s kneeling in front of Tim. He takes the boy’s face into his hands as he looks him over, either not noticing or not caring about the fact that Tim’s sitting in the lap of the boy Ben gave the shovel talk to not even a week ago.

“Are you okay?”

Tim nods. “Just bruised,” he says. “And confused, but uh… I think that’s to be expected?”

Ben frowns. “Concussion?”

Tim bites his lip. “I don’t think so. Just… a really crazy night.”

Ben nods in relief before be pulls Tim into his chest, tucking the boy’s head under his chin like the night in the penthouse and holding on tight.

“I know this is going to happen again,” he says, “just please promise me you’ll be safe. Please.”

Tim returns the hug, burying his head into the man’s shoulder. “Promise.”

“And for God’s sake Tim,” Ben says, “next time put on some body armor. Or at least grab your staff.”

Tim laughs weakly. “You got it.”

Ben pulls away, keeping a hand on Tim’s head. He keeps his eyes on the boy for a moment before he peers over Tim’s shoulder to look at Kon.

“You taking him back to the Tower?” Kon nods. “Good. I don’t want him driving. I’ll meet you guys there, okay?”

“Kay,” Tim mumbles.

Ben nods once again, presses a quick kiss to the crown of Tim’s head, and stands. He ignores the dirt on his jeans, instead offering a hand and pulling Tim to his feet.

“I love you,” he says.

Tim smiles tiredly. “I love you too.”

Ben ruffles his hair, shoots Kon a look that clearly says ‘take care of my boy’ before he makes his way over to Tim’s bike.

“Uh, Ben?”

Ben looks over his shoulder, pulling Tim’s adjustable helmet over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“You’re… taking my bike?”

Ben smiles wryly. “You’re not the only one who knows how to ride, Tim.”

He cackles evilly as Tim’s face goes bright, tomato red. Ben waits until Kon has pulled Tim into his arms and taken off until he kicks the bike into gear and begins the drive back to the Tower.

Tim knows that he’ll get back okay. He put Ben in the system and granted him access to most of the Titan’s properties their first day at the Tower. He watches until Ben has disappeared into the night’s traffic until he turns back to Kon, tightening his grip around Kon’s shoulders, sweat and the lingering smell of his shampoo filling his nose.

“Thanks,” Tim mumbles.

Kon’s hold around him tightens, fingers digging into his knees and shoulders, not painful, just there. “Anytime.”

The rest of the short flight is silent. Tim allows himself to close his eyes and doesn’t open them until they’re touching down on the roof of the Tower minutes later. He lingers a moment longer than necessary before moving away from Kon, rolling his shoulders and turning towards the roof’s access panel.

“Hey, Tim?”

He stops, glancing over his shoulder. “Yeah?’

“I…” Kon hesitates, biting his lip as his gaze flickers away for a second. He looks back quickly, meeting Tim’s eyes before moving forward.

Tim sees him coming, has enough time to move out of the way or turn his head.

He doesn’t.

The kiss is soft and quick. Kon only lingers for a moment before he pulls away, leaning their foreheads together and breathing deeply. Tim’s own chest is heaving, his pulse thudding in his fingertips, loud enough that he can hear it in his ears.

“Please,” Kon says, “don’t do that again.”

“Do what?” Tim asks.

Kon shivers as the warm breath tickles the sensitive skin of his neck. “Throw yourself in front of an angry Superman for me.”

Tim nearly tries to pull away. But Kon sounds desperate and terrified, so instead he moves closer, wrapping his arms around Kon’s torso and holding on tight. “Kon, I…”

“I know,” Kon whispers. “Just, please… if there’s another way, if you’re safe and there’s any other way, don’t take that risk. Please.”

Tim sags against his chest. “Okay.”

Kon’s hands cup his cheeks, lifting his chin until he can look at Tim in the eyes.

“Thank you.”

Tim nods absently, and when Kon leans in again, they take their time, kissing slowly until their heartrates have returned to normal and their adrenaline is gone. Tim’s fingers curl into the back of Kon’s jacket, and Kon’s find a place in Tim’s hair. They remain standing flush together, arms wrapped around each other as they remember to breathe, feeling like the weight is gone from their chests for what feels like the first time in forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was supposed to be a nice little epilogue that tied everything up with a neat little bow turned into this monster. Jason didn't even decide to show up until I had half of this written. Who even knows anymore.
> 
> To those of you who didn't like the portrayal of Dick, please remember that he has no idea what's going on. He and Tim are both confused, scared, and panicking, and neither are in a state of mind to hear each other out.
> 
> I have a few ideas of a potential Part 3 for this. It would mostly be about Tim/Dick/Jason bonding as brothers and getting over some of their issues with background TimKon. It would cover Dick's reaction to Part 1, why Jason decided not to beat the shit out of Tim, etc. Is anyone interested?
> 
> EDIT: There will be a part three.


	3. What Happens in the Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason finds Tim.
> 
> After all, broken birds stick together.

**PART THREE**

The afternoon sky is clear, the wind sharp against Tim’s cheeks. All of his classmates are bundled up in their jackets and some are even wearing mittens and scarves. Most of them stare when Tim walks out with nothing other than his sweatshirt to keep him warm. When one of the girls in his trig class asks him why he doesn’t have a coat, he merely raises a brow and answers,

“I’m from Gotham.”

He takes a moment to relish the warmth on the skin of his face, even if the breeze is admittedly a little chilly. His backpack is heavy on his shoulders as he weaves his way through the throng of high schoolers in the courtyard. He’s still the new kid and hasn’t really made any friends yet, so Tim tucks his hands in his pockets and tries to make it to the school’s gates so he can beat Ben home.

Their apartment is only about two miles from the school. Tim will sometimes change into basketball shorts and jog home so he can release some of the pent up energy that leaves him twitchy, but for today, he’s content in his jeans and sneakers. He’s just about to plug in his earbuds when he reaches the gate and freezes in his tracks.

Leaning back on a sleek black motorcycle across the street is Jason Todd, a worn leather jacket draped across his shoulders and a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Tim stares. Openly. It takes him a second to realize that his jaw is hanging slightly agape, and he forces it shut. He pulls his hands from his pockets and instead grips the straps of his backpack, hiking it up on his shoulders. Tim barely looks both ways before crossing the street, lengthening his stride so that he makes it to where Jason’s parked his bike in seconds.

Jason pulls the cigarette from his lips and flicks the ash of the end. “Hey there, Timbers.”

“Jason,” Tim says, eyes taking in his surroundings as he shifts from foot to foot.

Jason rolls his eyes. “C’mon kid, I know B trained you better than that. You never show someone that you’re nervous.”

Tim stops his shifting immediately. He feels like his mother is glaring down at him from across the table and calling him Timothy.

“What are you doing here, Jason?”

Jason responds by reaching into the saddlebag and thrusting a black helmet into Tim’s chest. “I said I wanted to talk, didn’t I?”

Tim frowns, taking the helmet hesitantly. “I need to get home. Ben will know if I’m late. He’ll send the search party.”

Jason scoffs. “Course he will.” He takes another drag of his cigarette, leaning his head back as he exhales. “You owe me an explanation, Timbers.”

Tim swallows. “I do,” he says, fingers digging into the hard plastic of the helmet, “but I really do need to let Ben know before I go anywhere.”

“You telling me you don’t have a phone?”

“No, but considering the number of superpowered assholes I’ve pissed off over the last three months, he doesn’t really trust anything I tell him unless I say it to his face.”

“Fair point,” Jason concedes. He drops his cigarette and uses the heel of his boot to grind it into the ground. “Get on the bike.”

“I literally just said I need to--”

“Just get on the bike,” Jason interrupts. “I’ll take you home so you can tell daddy three-point-o where you’re going.”

Tim scowls but doesn’t say anything as he slides the helmet in place. Jason grins and swings his leg over the bike, settling himself on the motorcycle as Tim climbs on behind him. He tentatively wraps his arms around Jason’s torso, and the man’s laughter vibrates through him.

“You gotta hold on tighter than that, kid,” he says. “I promise I’m not gonna stab you or anything. I can’t have you going splat before we have our talk.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” Tim grumbles, but he holds on tighter nonetheless.

The engine rumbles to life beneath them, and Jason tears off down the street. Tim’s not sure whether or not he should be disturbed by the fact that he doesn’t need to give the man directions to his apartment. He’s not under any sort of illusion that Batman and the Supers don’t know where he lives, but it’s still unsettling to see how easy it is for people to find him and Ben.

Jason drops him off on the steps of his apartment minutes later. He tells Tim to keep the helmet, pinning him in place with his eyes.

“You owe me that explanation, Replacement.”

“I don’t have school tomorrow,” Tim offers. “I can meet you on the roof of Drake Industries office later tonight?”

Jason hums. “I’ll see you tonight, pipsqueak.” He revs the engine of the bike, flipping the visor of his helmet down to cover his eyes. He points at Tim, leveling him with his gaze even when it’s hidden beneath the helmet. “One o’clock,” Jason says. “Don’t be late.”

Tim can only nod as Jason turns away from him, settling both hands of the handlebars of his motorcycle. Tim watches him leave until his leather jacket and bright helmet have disappeared from sight. Tim waits for a moment, nearly expecting someone to come jumping out at him at any second. He shakes himself out of his stupor and pulls his keys from his pocket to let himself in the apartment.

Ben isn’t home yet, so Tim kicks off his shoes and leaves them in the coat closet, leaving his backpack slung over his shoulders as he pads past the kitchen in the direction of his bedroom. He drops his backpack on the floor by his desk. Now that he’s inside, he pulls a soft hoodie over his head, burying his nose in the downy soft red fabric.

(Kon still hasn’t noticed it missing from his closet. Tim’s not going to be the one to tell.)

Tim nudges his door shut behind him as he makes his way back to the living room. He plops down onto the couch, tucking his legs underneath of him and pulling his phone from his pocket. Ben probably won’t be home for another hour or so and the Titans won’t be arriving in San Francisco until the next afternoon.

Tim still struggles with being alone sometimes. The silence bears down on him, reminds him of the empty echo of the Batcave, silent except for the brief coming and goings of Agent A.

He tries not to think about it, but occasionally his fingers still twitch, eyes darting to assess every inch of the space he’s in, mind whirring as he comes up with ways to protect himself--plans and contingencies and backups upon backups.

Sometimes he still thinks it will never be enough.

Tim pulls the sensitive skin of his inner cheek through his teeth as he scrolls through the notifications on his phone. His introduction to engineering midterm has been graded (Ben will probably display the model of his energy-efficient building, accompanied with the corresponding essay, in his office at DI, with the bright red _A_ his teacher has inked on the title page), Cassie is complaining about one of the boys in her class, and Bart has offered to beat him up twice.

He glances through the Twitter news feeds, checks the background program he has running on his phone that displays crime statistics. Everything seems steady, and San Fran’s overall crime rates have dropped since the whole ‘some guy with a gun shot Superman and told him to get out of the city’ situation. He guesses that he owes Jason a thank you.

The Titans haven’t been very active since then, too busy trying to sort out everything that’s happened. Tim has been settling in with Ben and getting used to his new school. Kon is still adjusting to being Conner Luthor, living in Lex’s personal residence in a small town in upstate New York and attending school for the first time.

Cassie and Bart, bless them, are the only two who have remained sane throughout the entire ordeal, even as the four of them create a whole new plethora of contingencies to deal with mentors gone rogue while they are not under any sort of outside influence. They have a whole new list of protocols specific to the four of them. No one’s saying it, but they all sleep a lot easier at night.

Tim hears the door open, and he looks away from the screen of his phone, glancing over the back of the couch to see Ben kicking off his loafers and hanging his bag on its designated hook on the wall.

“Hey, kiddo,” Ben says as he makes his way toward the master bedroom. “How was school?”

Tim drops his phone in his lap and folds his arms on the back of the couch to cushion his head. “It was okay. People here can’t handle the cold. They’re already wearing hats and gloves.”

Ben’s laughter floats through the apartment. “They’re from California,” he says. “They wouldn’t know winter if it smacked them in the face.”

Tim huffs in amusement. Ben’s back a moment later, the sleek suit he wears from work at Drake Industries exchanged for a pair of comfortable sweats and an old University of Nebraska sweatshirt.

“Are you ready for dinner?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. What are we having?”

Ben peers in the fridge before turning to look at Tim over his shoulder. “Is that honey chicken you like okay?”

Tim beams. “I’ll never turn down honey and soy chicken, Ben. You know this.”

“Yes, yes,” says Ben, pulling ingredients from the fridge and laying them out on the counter. “You haven’t turned it down once since my sister visited and made it when you were seven.”

“Alice is an awesome cook,” Tim says. “No one turns down anything she makes.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Obviously. I used to love the nights dad worked late when we were kids because Allie would cook instead. There were always leftovers too, thank god.”

Tim laughs, shaking his head. He pulls himself from the couch and makes his way to the kitchen, leaning against the counter and watching as Ben cuts the fat from the chicken and lays them in the glass baking pan. He cracks his knuckles under the counter, twisting his fingers in his hands and absently rubbing at his skin.

“So, Jason came to see me today,” he blurts before he can change his mind.

Ben pauses, the knife digging into the cutting board as he stares at Tim. His eyes flash and Tim backs up, holding up his hands and shaking his head.

“Not like that! It was fine!”

None of the tension leaves Ben’s shoulders. His grip around the handle of the knife tightens. “What happened?”

Tim hates the flat tone of his voice. “He was waiting for me outside the school’s gates. He just wanted to talk.”

“He wants an explanation.”

“Yeah. He wants to know what happened in Gotham, why the UN had to get involved.”

Ben hums, setting the knife down and grabbing a mixing bowl. He glances at Tim as he dumps honey and soy sauce into the bowl and begins to stir them together. “Do you want to talk to him?” Tim hesitates, opening his mouth to answer, but Ben cuts him off. “Don’t tell me that you need to talk to him. Talking about what happened to you is hard, Tim. You went through several different traumas, all instigated by people you trusted. And that’s okay; you have nothing to be ashamed of. But if you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Ben says, gentle but firm. “Maybe Jason deserves to know what happens, but you deserve to put your mental health first.”

Tim slumps forward. “I know.” At Ben’s doubtful gaze, he offers a smile. “I do. But I want to talk to Jason. He deserves to know, and, well… I’m not the only one who’s been hurt by Batman.”

Ben sighs. “I get where you’re coming from, Tim. If that’s what you want to do, I support you.”

“Thanks, Ben. It means a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ben says, ruffling Tim’s hair and ignoring his squawk of indignance. “So when are you going to talk to him?”

“About that…”

Ben glares at him. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I told him I’d meet him at DI at one.”

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” Ben scolds.

“Hey!” Tim yelps in defense. “He wanted to whisk me away on his motorcycle right after school! I told him that I had to come home and talk to you first.”

Ben perfectly arches a single brow. Tim still has no idea how he does it because not even his mother could pull off that pissed off ‘oh really’ expression. “He drove you home on the same motorcycle, didn’t he?”

Tim grumbles. Ben arches the brow higher. Tim glares at the countertop.

“Maybe.”

Ben takes the pan of chicken and pops it in the oven. Once the oven is shut and the timer set, Ben turns around, leaning against the counter next to the oven and crossing his arms over his chest. He levels Tim with his best glare of parental dissatisfaction.

“You will wear a comm,” Ben tells him. “You will call Kon and let him know what you’re doing. You will call him now so he can start the flight to San Francisco in case you need an extraction. I’m driving you into town and I’ll be waiting in the penthouse if you need me. If I tell you to pull back, you will pull back.”

“Deal,” Tim says. “Thanks, Ben. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, kid. Now c’mon, we got enough time for an episode of that sci-fi show you like before the chicken’s ready. Then you’re going to take a nap before you meet Jason.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “I don’t need a nap. It’s not like we’re meeting super late.”

“It’s one in the morning, Tim.”

“One, I’m a teenager. Two, I’m a vigilante. One isn’t that late.”

“One, we’ve talked about your Gotham sleep habits and just how unhealthy they were. Two--”

Tim groans. “Please don’t pull the ‘I’m the adult’ card.”

“Actually,” Ben says, “I was going to say that teenage angst is only made worse by sleep deprivation and caffeine addiction.”

“You took coffee away from me,” Tim accuses.

“I limited you to two cups a day,” Ben corrects.

“You took coffee away from me.”

“I’m being a responsible adult and making sure that caffeine doesn’t stunt your growth any more than it already has.”

“I’m still growing.”

“You’re five, five on a good day, Tim. I don’t know how much more growing you got in you.”

Tim throws himself down onto the couch dramatically. “You’re so mean to me.”

“It’s only because I love you.” Ben laughs and drops down on the couch next to Tim. He forces the boy to scoot over so there’s room for both of them. “So, do you agree to my terms?”

“I actually rather like your terms. Now let’s watch Wednesday’s episode before the chicken’s ready.”

/\/\/\

Jason watches the smoke from his cigarette curl into the night air, disappearing in the wind. He takes one last long drag before dropping it on the ground and grinding it beneath the heel of his boot.

Crouched on the rooftop of a big-wig law office, he keeps an eye on the rooftop across the street. The lights flicker on in the penthouse on the top floor, where interestingly enough, his replacement and his guardian don’t live. He supposes that they decided not to risk another penthouse after the disaster in New York.

Jason was watching when Nightwing, in all of his dickwad glory, shattered a Drake Industries window and pinned little Timmy to the ground. He thought about making his grand entrance then and there, but then Superbrat showed up and kicked Dickiebird out the same window he broke into.

Jason watches with a keen eye, noticing the exact moment that the rooftop access door opens and the replacement steps outside. He knows that the boy is tiny, nearly the same size Jason was when he first became Robin at twelve, when he was still recovering from malnourishment and neglect. He keeps back for a solid minute, watching the boy, looking for any sign of other masks. He doesn’t see anyone, and seconds later, he’s grappling across the street.

His boots thud against the gravel of the rooftop. Replacement looks up, tensing slightly when he sees Jason standing there.

“Timbers,” he greets.

“Hey, Jason.”

His voice is soft, and even if he’s not shifting like the last time, the set of his shoulders is enough to show Jason that he’s nervous. He tucks his hands in his pockets and relaxes so that he doesn’t loom over the kid, even from across the roof.

“I think you owe me a story, Replacement. Wanna tell me why daddy bats is on a UN watchlist?”

“Cause daddy bats is a controlling asshole,” Tim says.

Jason snorts. “I already knew that. I was thinking something a little more specific.”

Tim digs the toe of his boots into the roof. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, you do. Where do you want me to start?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Jason says. “The beginning, maybe?”

“Ass,” Tim mutters under his breath. Jason still hears him. He meets Jason’s eye and swallows. “I found out that Dick Grayson was Robin when I was nine.”

Jason almost takes a step back. “Fuck, kid. I think we might wanna find a bit more private if you’re gonna name drop people. Goddamn, didn’t Bats teach you better than that?”

The kid rolls his eyes. “Every Drake Industries building under new construction has been outfitted with white noise generators and lead paint. There are trip alarms literally everywhere.”

“I’m sure Superbrat loves that.”

“He’ll get over it.”

Jason will admit that the kid has more spunk than he originally gave him credit for. “Continue,” he says.

Tim doesn’t waste any time. “I followed Batman and Robin around Gotham until Robin II… disappeared. I took pictures and hid them in a box under my bed.”

“How the fuck did you do that?” Jason asks.

“I memorized Batman’s patrol routes and hid on rooftops or across the street to take the pictures,” Tim says like he’s reciting the ABCs. “I was small and no one ever noticed me.”

“And your parents?”

Tim winces and hides it behind a shrug. “They weren’t around.”

Jason hums, brows furrowed. Talia’s research said the boy was an orphan, but the Drakes would have been alive back then. He decides to look into it later. “So you knew the big secret. Why’d B take you in only to fuck you over?”

Tim is quiet for a moment, biting his lip. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Back in October, I was on my way into the Batcave, and I overheard B and Superman talking about capturing Superboy to take him to the Watchtower and run tests on him. I left the Cave through one of the tunnels and called Superboy. I sent him to one of my personal safehouses, but before I could get out of Gotham, B caught up to me.”

Tim goes silent, and Jason watches as he swallows thickly and takes a deep breath. It takes him another moment to continue speaking.

“I activated a Titan protocol that calls for us all to go underground because something has happened with our mentors. I trashed my phone, but B knocked me out before I could do anything else. I…” He takes another deep breath. “I woke up in the Cave’s containment cell. B had strapped me down to the cot in there, and he left me there while he helped the League look for Superboy.”

“Shit, Replacement.” Jason whistles. “How long did he keep you there?”

“Not long.”

Jason levels him with a flat stare. Tim averts his eyes.

“Two days,” he admits reluctantly. “They kept me strapped down for the most part. Let me up twice a day for food, then redid my restraints the second I was done.”

“And you didn’t make a break for it?”

Tim glares at him. “I’m not dumb enough to do anything that has even a chance of hurting Agent A.”

Something unpleasant churns in Jason’s gut. “Agent A was in on it?”

“He did most of the work,” Tim says. “B just caught me.”

Jason decides to sort through that later. He swallows down the wash of green that fills his eyes. Tim must see that he doesn’t want to talk about it because he moves on quickly.

“When B came back from being with the League, he told me we were going to the Hague, and Agent A drugged me. When I woke up, I was in a suit on the JLA’s javelin. No one told me what was going on. I testified about what happened in front of the International Court of Justice, and the Security Council took Batman into temporary custody to run psych evals while they waited for a final decision. B gave up his parental rights, and my new guardian took custody of me while everything settled. We moved permanently to San Francisco after Nightwing broke into where we were staying in New York. You were the one who shot Superman, so I doubt you need a recap there.”

“Nope,” Jason says through his teeth. “I’m going to remember that for the rest of my life.”

“Me too.”

Jason takes a long, slow breath to try and make the green edging into his line of sight go away. “So you’re telling me that Superman wanted to capture his clone, Batman decided to help him, you told Batman to go fuck himself, so he held you prisoner in the Batcave. Then you went and testified in front of the fuckin’ United Nations and fucked off right outta Gotham, Nightwing and the Supers ambushed you, and now B’s under probation and everyone is super pissed at a bunch of teenagers?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Fuck, kid. Things sure have jazzed up since my days in the pixie boots.”

Tim shrugs again. “You missed a lot.”

“Apparently. Though B is still as much of a righteous asshole as ever. God, fuck, I was supposed to be the last one.”

“... The last Robin?”

“No, the last pied piper,” Jason spits vehemently. “Yes, the last Robin! I fuckin’ died in that gooddamn cape, and as soon as I’m gone, he goes as sticks another kid in it and fucks him over too.”

“I put myself in the cape.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “What do you mean? Some non-sanctioned Robin doesn’t exactly go wandering around without Batman’s approval.”

Tim shrugs. “I didn’t want to be Robin,” he admits, “but I had to.”

“Bullshit,” Jason hisses. “If you didn’t want to be Robin, then Bats wouldn’t have given you a mask.”

“I didn’t really give him a choice,” Tim says.

Jason scowls. “Explain.”

Tim is shifting again, tucking his hands into the pockets as his shoulders curl inwards. If Jason was thinking properly, he would back off so the kid wouldn’t feel so nervous or intimidated or whatever the hell he’s feeling that’s making him want to disappear into the shadows like he’s smaller than he already is.

“After you died, Batman… I don’t know how to explain it. He wasn’t Batman anymore. He was beating petty thugs half to death and leaving them there to die. He cut himself off from the JLA and Nightwing, and Gotham… It was almost like all of Gotham was scared of him.”

“And?” Jason asks. “How do you play into this?”

“After I saw B nearly kill a man from stealing from a grocery store--stealing food, not money--I went to Dick in Bludhaven. Batman needs a Robin. Having a Robin to look out for, to protect, means that Batman can’t be too violent. Robin evens him out, keeps him from crossing a line. I tried to explain everything that was happening to Dick, but he didn’t believe me and kicked me out. Since that didn’t work…” Tim looks almost embarrassed, cowed. “I went to Wayne Manor and told Alfred I wanted to speak with Batman.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

Jason stares at the kid. He’s a tiny thing, barely five foot four and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. He must have been even smaller back then.

“I’m sure that went over well.”

“As well as you’d expect,” Tim says. “Didn’t matter in the end, though. Batman and Nightwing got caught by Two-Face, so Alfred lent me an old Robin suit and sent me in to get them out. After that, they didn’t really have a choice other than to let me--”

“What the _fuck_?”

Tim startles at the interruption. His eyes are wide as he blinks at Jason in confusion, but Jason doesn’t notice, too busy breathing through his teeth as everything turns green.

“Um… what…?”

Jason snarls. “Alfie sent you out as Robin, against Two-Face, after Batman and Nightwing were caught? They sent a kid with no training out against one of Batman’s rogues after the bastard had already fucked up? What the fuck? In what universe is that a good idea?”

“I had some training,” Tim defends weakly. “I’ve been--”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Jason says emphatically. “Even if you had some training, there was no way you had enough to go up against Two-Face. I’d been fighting on the streets since I was a goddamn runt, and B still made me train for six months before he even thought about letting me out.”

Tim looks down at his feet. “Yeah,” he agrees softly. “The only reason it turned out okay was because I had so much experience sneaking around. And I got really lucky.”

“Understatement of the fuckin’ year.”

Tim nods absently, gaze still directed toward the ground. Jason sighs heavily before breathing sharply, trying to slow the angry thud of his heart, the intense rush of the blood in his veins. He can feel his pulse in his fingertips, and the sensation sharpens when the green flares to life. He takes another deep breath.

Talia was shit at helping him control the Pit, but one of his teachers in Mongolia taught him ways to trick his nervous system into believing that it’s calm. Those tricks have saved his ass more times than Jason likes to admit.

“Alright,” he says, voice tight and carefully controlled. He meets Tim’s eyes when the boy finally lifts his head. “What else have I missed since I’ve been gone?”

They spend the next few hours talking. Not about anything specific. Just talking. Nothing heavy or dark, just curious conversation and light-hearted banter. It’s something Jason hasn’t done in a long time.

Tim tells him about what’s happened in Gotham. He leaves out most of the exploits of the Bats, mainly focusing on the actual criminal activity in the underbelly of the city. Jason is something close to happy to learn that Tim has been looking out for Crime Alley since he died.

The girls on the street know he’s not the Robin that used to sit and talk with them over greasy fries and milkshakes. Jason knows even before Tim tells him that it’s glaringly obvious. Jason never managed to get rid of his Gotham street accent, and Tim, born and raised in the high society, talks like an aristocrat even when he doesn’t mean to.

Tim assures him they didn’t mind too much once they realized that he wasn’t a pretentious little toad who was going to look down on them. He may not have known the streets the way Jason did, but he was still there when any pimp tried to take it too far.

He also assures Jason that they never stopped asking about what happened to him, and when Tim finally cracked and admitted (against Batman’s orders) that Robin II had been killed in action, the girls set up a small memorial for him at one of the shelters he’d frequented as a kid.

Jason’s throat gets tight, his chest burning when Tim tells him, and he decides that one of his first stops in Gotham will be checking in on the ladies.

In return, Jason tells him about his travels.

He doesn’t mention his resurrection or the Lazarus Pit or why he didn’t come home.

He doesn’t talk about how he killed nearly every single one of his teachers because they were terrible people. (How he learned all that they had to give, all the things that made them terrible, before he cut them down.)

He doesn’t talk about Talia or about how the first thing he was going to do when he got back to the States was break into Titan’s Tower and beat Tim to a bloody pulp in order to send a message to Batman.

(He has to swallow down the bile that rises at the idea of hitting Tim until his knuckles are broken and bleeding and the boy is barely breathing. Before, it’s all he thought he wanted. To kill the boy who had the guts, the audacity to replace him; to prove to Batman that he should have been the last Robin, to punish him for choosing another boy when Jason’s body hadn’t even gone cold.

No. No, that plan went out the window the moment he turned on the news and saw the headline _Batman Violates Geneva Convention; Robin Testifies About Alleged Abuse._ )

No, Jason tells Tim about the mountains in Tibet, the coastlines of Japan, the Russian tundra, and all of the sprawling cities he visited across the globe. The plains of Australia, the forests in Brazil, all of the beautiful things he never had the chance to see before he died, when the only thing he knew was the crime-ridden streets of Gotham and the pain he felt in Ethiopia.

Tim listens. He asks questions when he’s especially curious, but is content to listen to Jason and absorb everything he has to say. At some point, they end up sitting on the edge of the roof, their legs dangling above the empty streets beneath them.

Jason glances at Tim from the corner of his eye, watching the kid stare at the sky, legs swinging beneath him, hair drifting across his cheeks in the wind. He looks small. Fragile. Breakable.

Jason swallows and lets out a deep breath. “So,” he starts, voice as level as he can manage, an attempt to appear calm, “how come you haven’t asked about how I’m still kicking and not rotting underground? Aren’t you supposed to be the curious Robin?”

Tim just looks at him. Jason can only call the expression on his face bewildered. The boy blinks, his eyes bright blue against the inky backdrop of the sky. Jason’s stomach twists. His eyes used to be a similar color, something that leaned a little more towards teal than sky blue. But now, his irises are coated in green, a constant reminder every time he looks in the mirror.

He can barely meet Tim’s eyes, and the boy saves him from the effort by leaning back and staring at the sky.

“I figured you didn’t want to talk about it,” Tim says.

Jason stares at him. The boy has seemingly finally relaxed after being tense for most of the night. He keeps his eyes on the sky like he’s expecting to see the stars through the pollution of the city.

“A lot of people don’t stay dead in our world.” He turns his head, catching Jason’s eyes with his own. “We all have ghosts, Jason. You deserve to choose what you do with yours.”

Their gaze remains locked for several seconds before Jason finally turns away. He looks up towards the sky like Tim had moments before, taking in the orange-tinged clouds, the sounds of the waves rolling against the bay, crashing into rocks and sand.

They don’t say anything else for a long while. They don’t need to.

Eventually, when his fingers have gone numb and his toes are well on their way to joining them, Jason makes his way to his feet.

“It’s probably time for you to be getting home.”

Tim glances up at him before nodding, pushing back from the edge of the roof and standing up next to Jason. “Probably,” he agrees.

“You need a ride or is your guardian waiting for you?” Jason suddenly grins. “Or is Superbrat here to make sure you get home safe?”

Color rises to Tim’s cheeks almost instantly, but he doesn’t look away. “Ben is waiting for me downstairs. He said he could do paperwork while he’s waiting.”

Jason laughs, a short burst of amusement flaring in his chest. He reaches out and ruffles Tim’s hair without thinking. The boy is just as surprised as Jason is, and he jumps at the touch. His eyes are wide but he doesn’t move away. He’s smiling up at Jason, relaxed and pleased.

Jason quickly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pad of paper and a pen. He scrawls a series of numbers before dropping it in Tim’s hands.

“That’s the number of my burner phone. I try to keep this one from being compromised, so you should be able to get a hold of me.”

Tim’s staring up at him, surprise written across his features. Jason feels the same twist in the pit of his stomach as before, and he nudges the boy’s shoulder with his own. There’s something warm and tight curling in his chest, wrapping around his lungs. He hasn’t felt like this since he was Robin, when he went back to Crime Alley and checked up on all the kids he knew before Batman swept him away in the Batmobile all those years ago.

“Us broken birds stick together. If you need me, call me, okay?”

Tim’s expression falls briefly before he nods, clutching the number in his hand like he’s scared it’s going to disappear. “Thank you,” he says, and Jason can tell the boy is more emotional than he’s letting on. He hesitantly offers, “If you ever need to hide from B, our apartment has a spare room.”

Jason grins and ruffles Tim’s hair once again. “Night, Timmers.”

He waits for the boy to be safely tucked behind the roof door before he pulls his grapple gun from his belt and disappears into the night.

/\/\/\

The next few weeks are a blur of activity that leaves Tim both confused and giddy.

He’s actually made friends (gasp!) at the STEM school he and Ben decided on him attending. He sees the Titans every weekend, and even though he hasn’t decided on a new identity, he’s kept himself busy by setting up his own operation.

Before, he mostly relied on Batman’s resources, both inside and outside of Gotham. But Tim’s not stupid. Even before he was officially Robin, he had places where he could disappear if he needed to.

He had safe houses like the underground apartment in Colorado City, though that was admittedly his nicest escape plan. The rest are mostly Drake Industries’ warehouses with lofts where he’s stashed some nondescript gear and a week’s worth of food. They started as places for him to run if something happened with his parent’s or DI, and when he became Robin, he merely expanded them.

Batman knows about half of them, which considering he only has five, leaves Tim with the underground apartment, a bolt hole in Vancouver, and a loft in eastern Nebraska. Tim makes sure Batman won’t find any of the three and begins setting up plans to create more safehouses.

He doesn’t want anymore connected to DI, no matter how convenient it would be. Unfortunately, that means it will take time to purchase apartments, warehouses, and such and refurbish them to fit his needs. The Titans have some of their own safehouses, and he’s sure that if he’s desperate, Lex has somewhere he can crash.

Tim will be safe for the moment, and he acknowledges that it will take time for him to meet his incredibly high standards for his operation. Kon calls his standards impossible. Tim reminds him that he can fly, and up until about fifteen years ago, that would have been considered impossible as well.

Between Drake Industries and LexCorp, Tim will have the resources he needs. Problem is, he still doesn’t have a name. Cassie suggests Prometheus, but Tim thinks that’s a little too dramatic. For the moment, Tim’s content with his armored cargo pants, long-sleeved vest, and the anonymity provided by the black mask that covers the lower half of his face, fitted snugly around his nose and cheekbones while leaving his eyes exposed.

It’s nothing like Nightwing’s skin-tight bodysuit, the one that displays absolutely everything the man has to offer or Robin’s thinly armored, brightly colored tunic. If anything, it’s similar to the get up of the Red Hood, Gotham’s newest antihero, which Tim finds immensely amusing.

It takes him all of fifteen minutes to decide that he’s one hundred percent certain that the rising crime lord is Jason Todd deciding to stir up trouble. He sends the man a text letting him know that if he ever feels the need to firebomb somewhere outside of the Bowery, Drake Manor has been on the market since the death of his father, and damn, despite Tim’s best efforts, it still hasn’t been sold.

He gets a thumbs up in return.

The next day, the nightly news spends one of its shorter segments discussing ‘a mysterious explosion next door to the home of billionaire Bruce Wayne.’ The newswoman explains that the manor that caught fire belonged to Jack and Janet Drake, the owners of the rising company Drake Industries before their untimely deaths a few years prior.

No one mentions his name or Bruce’s invalidated adoption, but the conspiracy boards have lit up about the fact that it was Drake Manor that burned down when Timothy Drake, the sole survivor of the Drake family who was adopted by Bruce Wayne, hasn’t been seen in months.

Someone suggests that Bruce only adopted Tim to gain control of Drake Industries, and once Tim had served his purpose, Bruce either:

  1. a) killed him and hid the body or
  2. b) is keeping him captive in the illustrious Wayne Manor.



Tim laughs so hard he cries. He and Jason are on the phone a few days later, discussing the potential of some joint safehouses when Tim thanks him.

 _“No worries,”_ Jason says. _“Consider it an early Christmas present.”_

Tim can hear some static through the phone, and he’s ninety-nine percent sure he hears swearing and the sound of a skull meeting a brick wall, so he assumes that Jason is out on patrol at the moment. He glances at the clock, remembering Gotham is a few hours ahead of California.

“I’m Jewish, actually,” he says absently, finishing one of his trigonometry equations with a scowl. “Sorry to call you during patrol. I forgot about time zones.”

 _“Mazel tov!”_ Tim hears the sound of a shoulder dislocating and a brief scream of pain before the voice is muffled. _“And don’t worry ‘bout it. Tonight’s easy.”_ Another scream. Tim glares at problem fourteen. _“Just some petty thugs who thought selling Special K to fifth-graders was a good idea.”_

“Idiots,” Tim says. “Break a few noses for me. I used to check up on the kids in the neighborhoods you’re looking into.”

_“Sure thing.”_

Tim nods, knowing that Jason can’t see him but not really caring. “I’ll make a map with some of the locations I was thinking about, and I’ll send it to you later tonight.”

Jason grunts in acknowledgment. Tim hears a gun go off. He winces; anyone trying to shoot at Red Hood is going to get twice as many bullets in their own chests before they even move their finger off the trigger.

_“Aren’t you supposed to be with the Titan’s right now?”_

“Yeah. I was planning on heading over to the Tower in a little while.”

The sound of shots being fired is closer than before. Jason must have lost his patience.

_“Scram, kiddo. Go spend time with your friends. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”_

“Yeah. Let me know what you think of the map. Feel free to add anything else you’re thinking of. Have fun beating up your thugs.”

Jason laughs. _“Thanks, T. I’ll remember to aim for the noses.”_

“This is why you’re my favorite. Later, Jason.”

The call disconnects and Tim leans back from his desk. The last of his homework is done, and the Titans are set to meet up at the Tower in thirty minutes. Tim grabs his backpack from the floor and nudges the door to his bedroom closed before padding down the hall toward the kitchen.

Ben left him a note this morning letting Tim know that he has to work late. Tim quickly scrawls a note of his own, letting Ben know he’ll be back at the normal time on Sunday and he’ll text if something serious comes up. He pins it to the fridge next to Ben’s before double-checking that he has everything he needs in his bag.

His phone, laptop, and the respective chargers are all there, so Tim grabs his keys from the keyring by the door and locks the apartment behind him. He starts off down the street, earbud tucked into one ear as he walks. He stores his bike in a hidden crevice built into an alleyway about a block from the apartment.

Tim presses his hand to the camouflaged biometric scanner on the brick wall. The bricks slide back and apart, revealing his bike and an emergency bo staff and a stash of smoke bombs and exploding pellets.

Tim tucks his phone and earbuds in his backpack and slips his helmet on. He pulls the bike from the crevice, allowing the wall to return to its original position and disguise the cache like it’s supposed to. Tim throws a leg over his bike, and once the engine has rumbled to life beneath him, Tim disappears further into the alley, going in the opposite direction that he came from.

A maze of shortcuts and hidden back roads later, Tim is on his way to Titans Tower.

Before long, he pulls into the underground tunnel that will bring him to the garage. He leaves his bike in its usual spot and sets his helmet on a shelf mounted directly on the wall. The elevator across the room brings him up to the residential floor.

Cassie is already there, sprawled across one of the sofas, scrolling through something on her phone.

“Bird boy,” she greets.

“Not really a bird anymore,” Tim reminds her, though he’s smiling at the familiar nickname.

Cassie glares at him from over the top of her phone. “Oops,” she says flatly.

Tim laughs. “I’m going to drop my stuff in my room. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Cassie ignores him, and Tim shakes his head as he disappears down the hallway. He drops his backpack on his bed, pulling his phone from the smallest pocket and tucking it in his hoodie before heading back out to the living room.

Of course, in the three minutes he’s gone, Bart and Kon have both arrived.

Bart points an accusing finger at his chest. “You’re late!”

“I was here before you.”

“You were the last of us to be in the same room!”

“Once again, I was in the living room before both of you got here. I just dropped my stuff in my room.”

“Blasphemy!” Bart cries. “You were the last of us to be in the same room at the same time! That means you’re late!”

Tim rolls his eyes and drops onto the couch next to Kon. Bart is still staring at him.

“Just give in,” Kon says. “You can never win against Bart.”

“Unless we’re sparring,” Cassie says, fingers flying across the screen of her phone, not bothering to look at any of the boys.

Bart whimpers in betrayal, Tim cackles, and Kon stares at them in disapproval. Tim nudges him in the ribs with his elbow.

“Don’t be a nag.” He grins. “You used to be so much fun.”

“I’m still fun,” Kon defends.

Tim pats his knee. “Sure thing.”

Kon glares at him, but his arm has come to rest around Tim’s shoulders, and they’re sitting flush together on the couch, legs and sides pressed together. Bart wrinkles his nose at them.

“Dinner?” he asks, looking away from them and instead peering at Cassie.

“Don’t look at me,” she says.

“Ah,” Tim chides, “but you are our fearless leader. Therefore you must plan these things.”

Cassie scowls at him. “You didn’t do shit about food when you were team leader,” she says. “You didn’t even eat half of the time. Kon had to threaten to steal your laptop.”

Tim shrugs. “Maybe that’s one of the reasons they voted for you to assume leadership.”

Cassie raises a brow. “Because I’m responsible?” she asks.

“Sure.”

Tim yelps when Kon lightly smacks the top of his head. Tim glares at him half-heartedly but doesn’t move away. Kon looks to Cassie.

“I dunno about you guys, but Thai sounds pretty good.”

There are mumbles of agreement, and once the order has been placed, set to arrive at the Tower at two a.m., Cassie pulls them together and forces them into the war room.

“I was thinking we should do drills in the city tonight.”

Bart frowns. “What?”

“Drills,” Cassie repeats. “Let's run our protocols while we’re spread out around the city so we can practice out in the field. That way we can smooth out any problems that come up.”

Bart hums in understanding.

“What drills were you thinking of running?” Kon asks.

Cassie types something on the keyboard, pulling up a list of protocols and keywords on the holographic table. They all move so they’re standing on the same side of the room and can all see it easily.

“I was thinking about drilling the response protocols. So the response for a team member being down, trapped, etcetera. We’ll call out the actual protocol codes and treat everything like we’re really on the field.”Tim nods. “What other drills were you planning on?”

Cassie smiles sweetly. “I’m not telling. I’ll call out the first set of codes and you guys will react, then I’ll send Tim a list and he’ll call them.”

“You evil lady,” Bart whispers.

Cassie’s smile simply grows wider. “Quick review, what’re everyone’s keywords if comms are compromised and we’re using protocol codes only.”

Kon rolls his eyes. “Sierra Bravo.”

“Tango,” Tim says. His fingers curl into the edge of the table. “I still don’t have a new pseud, so I’ll keep going by T until we get everything sorted.” Cassie frowns, but before she can say anything, Tim beats her to the punch. “I’ll have everything finalized by the New Year,” he promises. “Give me six weeks, and I’ll have a name.”

“And an actual suit?”

Tim glares at Kon from the corner of his eye. “I actually rather like the armor,” he says. “It’s nondescript, has a good range of motion, is literally something other than tights and a cape.”

“It’s also creepy,” Bart says.

Tim stares at him. “What? It’s literally just black armor.”

“Yeah, it’s the black that makes it creepy.” When Tim continues to stare at him, Bart elaborates, “Dude, you were sneaky before. You know, when you were literally dressed up like a stoplight. With the black?” He shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. Nope. Nada. Zilch. Dude, it’s like you’re literally a shadow. You were freaky on the field before. But now? Now, no way. I’d nope right out of your way if I wasn't on your team.”

“Huh,” says Tim. “I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bart says quickly. “Also, since I didn’t get there yet, Kilo Foxtrot.”

Cassie shakes her head in exasperated amusement. “Whiskey Golf,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I kinda want to change our system just based on my initials.”

“Too late,” Tim says. “You’re the one who instituted it. I’ve also argued multiple times that it’s way too simple.”

Cassie glares at him. “We were like thirteen when we set it up.”

They spend the next fifteen minutes reviewing their list of protocols and keywords. Cassie pulls up a map of San Francisco, and Tim marks out four different patrol routes to cover the entire city. Once everything is settled and everyone has confirmed their patrol routes, they break apart to change into uniform.

Cassie and Kon take off from the roof of the Tower, and Tim and Bart use the underground tunnel to head out across the bay and into the city. Bart darts in front of Tim and disappears in a blur. Tim grins underneath his helmet, taking a hard left as he sees Bart go right.

Cassie gives the first order fifteen minutes into the patrol. _“Protocol Tango Mike Delta: Kilo Foxtrot.”_ She rattles off a set of coordinates and turns her comm off.

 _“Received,”_ Kon says. _“ETA sixty seconds.”_

“ETA four minutes,” Tim responds, changing course on his bike, pulling up the holographic screen and looking for Bart’s tracker.

He speeds through the city, taking curves at speeds that would make Ben frown in concerned disapproval. It’s different, riding without a cape flapping in the wind behind him. His cape was made to be aerodynamic so it wouldn’t affect him but it still caused drag and pulled at his back as he drove. The flat black armor does no such thing, and Tim feels lighter than before.

Tim finds Bart sitting cross-legged on the top of a half-rotted warehouse roof. He waves.

“I’m supposed to tell you that I have two broken legs and a dislocated knee.” He holds up his left hand. “I also dislocated my thumb to escape my restraints before being knocked down.”

Tim pulls his grapple from his belt and uses it to pull himself up onto the warehouse roof. He keeps a careful eye on the wood of the rotting roof to make sure that his grapple doesn’t break it apart from the rest of the crumbling structure. He lands in a careful crouch, distributing his weight as evenly as he can. The warehouse creaks beneath him. Tim reaches Bart seconds later.

“Where’s Superboy? He was due here three minutes ago?”

Bart shrugs. “Wonder Girl called him away with an abduction attempt downtown.”

“Why wasn’t I notified?”

“Dunno,” Bart says. “Though Wonder Girl told me to tell you not to waste medical supplies and create a splint using the materials around you. You can take them off as soon as we’re two miles away from the site.”

Tim rolls his eyes but complies, pulling a knife from his vest and inching away to find wood that may be suitable for a make-shift splint. “And I assume I was left off both these channels because Wonder Girl is pissed about dinner?”

“You know not to antagonize her, man.”

“C’mon,” Tim says, slowly cutting a piece of an exposed rafter away from the rotted bits attached to both ends. “It’s so easy to--”

 _“I can hear you both, you know,”_ Cassie snaps over the comms. _“Stop chatting like middle schoolers and evacuate KF.”_

Tim shakes his head, not bothering to hide his smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

He hears Cassie grunt but she doesn’t say anything else. Tim assembles two makeshift splints from wood from the roof that have yet to rot, using the paracord from his belt to bind them to the sides of Bart’s legs. Once they’re secured, Tim frowns and begins looking for ways to get them both down safely. Bart interrupts his planning with a long whine.

“But my thumb.” He holds up his hand and showcases his perfectly intact thumb.

“Non-lethal injuries can wait to receive treatment at the Tower,” Tim says without looking at him.

Bart whines again, but Tim doesn’t listen as he finds a half rusted fire escape on the south side of the building. He does some quick math in his head and nods. Not ideal but it will work.

“Alright, KF, up and at ‘em.”

“Huh? But I can’t walk.”

“Nope,” Tim says, “but last I checked your stupid fast metabolism keeps you from gaining any weight.”

Before Bart can react, he bends down and swoops forward, scooping Bart into his arms. Bart scrambles for a moment before he gives up and wraps his arms around Tim’s neck, tugging at his mask.

“I don’t get it,” Bart mumbles into his shoulder. “You barely weigh more than I do.”

Tim grunts. “Maybe, but my weight is pretty much all muscle. Do you know how many times I had to drag B out of a…”

Tim trails off, not letting himself think about Gotham or the Bats. He’ll have to address it at some point, but he really doesn’t want to worry about it now, or anytime in the foreseeable future. Ben insists on a therapist. Tim insists on coffee and contingencies. Also on punching people.

Bart doesn’t say anything, merely holds on as Tim moves carefully across the roof before dropping onto the rickety fire escape.

“Now,” Tim says, “would be a great time for Superboy to make an appearance.”

“Why?” asks Bart, pouting under his mask. “Don’t want to carry me all the way back to HQ?”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Not when you’re going to bitch about the bike ride the entire time.”

Bart cackles.

/\/\/\

The Titans regroup at the Tower at 1:45 in the morning, and a stupified delivery boy accepts a wad of cash from Wonder Girl, staring as she winks at him before taking the take out containers and disappearing back into the Tower.

Uniforms are exchanged for pajamas, and the four Titans spread out in the living room, cardboard cartons and chopsticks in hand. Once the take out is devoured, they all agree to turn in for the night. Cassie tells them they’ll do some more training tomorrow before digging into some research on an up and coming ‘psychic organization’ that wants the entire world to worship the voice in their heads.

Kon, of course, slips into Tim’s room barely five minutes after lights out.

Tim, sitting up in bed with his laptop settled on his legs, smiles as Kon slides into bed next to him.

“So,” he asks, “what are we watching tonight?”

“What did we watch last time?”

“Star Wars.”

Kon hums, his arm falling around Tim’s shoulder as he leans into the other boy. Tim melts into his side, fingers flying across the keyboard as he finds a movie to watch, and Kon presses his nose to Tim’s hair when his head comes to rest on Kon’s shoulder.

“Is _Empire Strikes Back_ good?” Tim asks.

Kon hums his assent, and Tim pulls up the movie on his laptop. The projector mounted to Tim’s ceiling whirs quietly as it flickers to life, illuminating the opposite wall as the Star Wars theme begins to trickle through the speakers tucked in the corners of the walls. Tim leans over Kon to gently drop his laptop on the floor so it’s out of the way. He quickly returns to his spot tucked under Kon’s chin, his arms winding around Kon’s torso as his arm rests along Tim’s back.

The landscape of Hoth is projected onto the wall, painting the room in a light sheen of white. Kon presses his lips to the crown of Tim’s head, smiling when Tim buries his nose in Kon’s shoulder in return. They simply sit there, enjoying each other’s warmth and the comfort they offer each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, apparently there's going to be a part four. It was all supposed to fit in this chapter, but well, that obviously didn't happen. If it did, this would probably be about twenty thousand words. I don't hate myself that much.
> 
> Also, TimKon? What's that? Never heard of it.


	4. The End of All Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This is a monster of a chapter. I almost cut it in half and made NMYH into five chapters instead of four, but I'm lazy so here's 13,000+ words of... whatever this is. Also, it's late and I'm in the middle of a dozen different things, so the only editing here is a brief read through with Grammarly. I will come back and edit all of NMYH at some point. (No, I probably won't.)
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me. If it weren't for everyone's comments and feedback, NMYH never would have been more than one part. This only happened because of all of you wonderful readers. Thank you.

**PART FOUR: The End of All Things**

**(And the Beginning of Others)**

The weekend comes to an end like it always does.

The Titans get ready to head home, Cassie taking off from the roof and Bart taking off down the highway. Kon hangs back with Tim, standing behind him, his arms wrapped around Tim’s torso while he rests his chin on Tim’s head.

“You really should be getting back,” Tim reminds him.

Kon hums and squeezes just tight enough that Tim can feel the increase in pressure.

“Mrs. Kent is going to give you extra chores if you’re late. Do you really want to be fixing the fence again?”

“Tim,” Kon says, and it’s only half of a whine. He leans forward, folding his body over Tim’s smaller form, burying his face in Tim’s shoulder.

“Kon,” Tim mimics, drawing out the o and laughing when Kon digs his fingers into his ribs. He muffles a laugh by turning into Kon’s arm so that his cheek pressed against the fabric of his shirt.

“C’mon. Give me ten more minutes.”

Tim spins around so that he’s facing Kon, draping his arms across Kon’s shoulders, lightly wrapping them around his neck. “You drive a hard bargain, good sir.”

Kon grins, leaning forward until their lips meet. It’s still tentative, chaste and simple, just a brush of lips on lips. They haven’t really talked about whatever it is going on between them. They’ve always spent a good amount of their free time together, and they’re getting more comfortable with each other. Tim will throw his legs over Kon’s lap when they’re sitting in the common room, Kon will leave an arm hanging over Tim’s shoulders whenever they’re standing next to each other. They don’t shy away from the contact like they used to, but the kisses are still few and far between, awkward and strange, something they’re still getting used to.

Tim knows they need to talk about it at some point. Establish boundaries and expectations and all, but for now, Tim is okay with whatever it is they have.

When they pull apart, Tim plants a quick kiss on the corner of Kon’s mouth, then another on his cheek. Kon smiles into his hair as Tim drops his head on Kon’s shoulder, content to simply be hugged for the moment.

“You really should get going,” Tim says.

Kon huffs. “Maybe,” he admits, “but I can spare another minute or two for you.”

“You’re a sap.”

“That’s not exactly a complaint.”

“No,” Tim says fondly, “it isn’t.”

Kon kisses him again. And again. They shift a little closer, slotting together like they haven’t before. Tim shivers when Kon drags his fingers up his spine, the sensation clear through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He’s suddenly quite pleased that he hadn’t put on his sweatshirt on his way up to the roof. He presses forward once again, and he feels Kon smiling against his lips. Tim rarely initiates anything, and Kon is absurdly pleased whenever he does.

They remain on the roof for several more minutes before Tim regretfully pulls away.

“I’ll see you next weekend,” he says.

“Mhm. Get home safe, Tim. Text me so I know you made it?”

Tim laughs. “You’re the one who lives halfway across the country. I’m less than half an hour away from the Tower.”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who has bad luck in spades. I’m in the air the whole time. You’re on your bike, where metas can easily pluck you from the street or run you off the road or--”

“Okay, okay.” Tim laughs, shaking his head. “I get it. I’ll text you when I’m safely inside my apartment with the door locked behind me.”

Kon smiles smugly. “Thank you.”

He leans in for one last, quick kiss before he’s kicking off of the roof, waving before he begins his flight back to the Kent Farm. Tim watches him go, waiting until he’s out of sight before heading down to the Tower’s garage. He pulls his sweatshirt over his head, sliding a leather jacket over his shoulders as a second, protective layer. His helmet follows, and Tim is heading back home seconds later, twisting and turning through back roads and forgotten streets. He stashes his bike in the hidden alley cache and walking the few blocks home.

Tim freezes on the steps leading up to the apartment door. Everything looks the same, the door shut, the flowers outside undisturbed. But something is off, and Tim has always gone with his gut when it tells him something is wrong.

He slides the hidden bo staff he keeps on him at all times from its place in his backpack. He doesn’t allow it to extend, keeping it collapsed but ready to expand at any second. He silently makes his way up the steps, and his suspicions are confirmed when he sees the smear of blood on the door handle. Tim slowly reaches forward, fingers curling around the chilled metal.

The door is unlocked.

Tim praises Ben for making sure their door doesn’t squeak when it swings open without a sound. Tim is seconds away from hitting his emergency beacon, waiting for a Super or a Bat or hell, even Wonder Woman at this point, when he freezes in the threshold of the kitchen.

There’s a body on the floor, back against the leather couch, form curled forward so that dark hair hides the person’s face. But Tim recognizes the warm brown jacket from that night on the roof, recognizes the startling streak of white in otherwise dark hair.

His staff clatters to the ground as he rushes forward. There’s blood soaking into the hardwood floors, and even though it looks like Jason is breathing, he’s unconscious and bleeding in San Francisco when Tim talked to him two days ago when he was in Gotham. On the opposite coast, an entire country away.

“Jay?”

He falls to his knees beside the man’s prone figure, carefully placing his fingers on Jason’s neck. He finds the pulse immediately, and it’s steady, if not a little sluggish. Tim lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he was holding.

“Jay, can you hear me?”

He carefully maneuvers Jason into a more comfortable position, leaning him fully back against the couch so that he’s not curled forward. His breath catches in his throat when Jason’s head comes to rest against the sofa, clearly displaying thick, messy stitches across the entirety of his throat.

Tim’s throat feels tight. He forces himself to swallow down the myriad of emotions threatening to drown him, instead drawing a sharp breath in through his nose. He exhales slowly, ignores the shaking of his hands, and gets to work.

He carefully examines Jason, cataloging each and every injury to his person, from the terrible cut across his throat all the way down to the tiniest scrape across his knuckles, nearly hidden in the sea of terrible bruising of Jason’s fists. Once he’s confident Jason’s not going to bleed out, Tim begins to gently remove Jason’s armor. He keeps his breathing as slow and even as he can manage.

Jason stirs almost immediately, jerking backward a second after Tim’s fingers brush the leather of his holsters. His eyes fly open as he lunges forward. Tim scrambles back, watching as Jason collapses moments later with a pained groan. His arm comes to wrap around his ribs, and he slumps backward, jaw tensed as a breath hisses through his clenched teeth.

“Jason, it’s me,” Tim says shakily, holding up his hands in an attempt to keep Jason calm. “It’s just Tim, okay? I’m here.”

Jason peers at him from under half-lidded eyes, face still twisted in a grimace. “Timbers?”

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re okay, Jay. I got you.”

Jason begins to nod but flinches and sinks further into the cabinets. “Sorry ta bother ya, kid.”

Tim stares at him. Then his eyes narrow and he clenches his hands into tight fists, scowling as he counts to ten in his head. “No bother at all,” he says as evenly as he can. “Want to tell me why you’re bleeding on the kitchen floor when I know for a fact that you were in Gotham earlier today?”

The flinch at his words spreads through Jason’s entire body. Tim immediately regrets asking.

“Jus’ the usual,” Jason grunts, but his voice is tight and shaky, and Tim can hear the pain in his words.

He presses his lips together and shakes out his hands. “Alright. Let’s get you into the spare room so I can check you over. Can you stand at all?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Timbers. I’m all good here.”

“No,” Tim says, “you’re not. I can’t see your other injuries with your armor in the way. Let’s get you in bed so I can make sure you’re not dying.”

“Done it once,” Jason says absently. “Zero out of ten; I don’t recommend it.”

Tim purses his lips. “This is going to hurt, but I need you to help me move you. I can’t carry you by myself.”

Jason hums but doesn’t respond. Tim reaches forward slowly, telegraphing his movements, before easing his arms around Jason’s back and pushing them both to their feet. Jason uses his hands to help add to the momentum and hold his weight, but Tim still winces at the man’s bulk. Jason has nearly a hundred pounds of pure muscle on him, and it’s a long walk to the spare bedroom down the hall.

Tim supports Jason’s right side, allowing Jason to steady himself with the wall on his left. They don’t stop, even though Tim thinks they probably should, and he’s trying to gently lower Jason onto the queen bed moments later. Jason’s dead weight in his arms at that point, and Tim loses his hold around Jason’s waist as he drops onto the bed with a thump. Tim winces.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, leaning down to pick up Jason’s legs and force them onto the bed.

He pointedly ignores Jason’s heavy boots and all of the mud, guck, and blood-soaked into the leather. Once he has Jason somewhat settled on the bed, leaning against the headboard and breathing through his teeth, Tim gets to work.

He doesn’t fumble as he removes Jason’s boots and drops them on the floor before moving to the holsters wrapped around his legs. Those are more of a struggle, but Tim manages and gently sets them and the respective guns on the floor under Jason’s watchful eye. He helps Jason slowly lean forward and slip the leather jacket from his shoulders, and Tim quickly removes the kevlar chest plate, leaving Jason in his cargo pants and long-sleeved undershirt.

Tim drapes the jacket over the desk chair on the other side of the room, laying the holsters and pistols on the desk along with his thick gloves. He lines the boots up along the wall before returning to Jason’s side.

He’s leaning back against the headboard, chest rising and falling slowly in what Tim knows are carefully controlled breaths. His eyes are closed, but Tim isn’t naive enough to think that Jason is anything other than alert. Even injured, Jason is prepared to move at any given moment, knows everything about his whereabouts and the people around him.

“Hey,” Tim whispers, reaching the bed. “Mind if I check you over?”

Jason doesn’t bother opening his eyes. “I already know what you’re gonna find, babybird.”

Tim tries very hard not to wince at the hoarse rasp of Jason’s voice, the stitches openly displayed across his throat. They’re crude, messy, but done well enough that Tim is content to leave them for the time being.

“I’m going to check your ribs.”

“Go for it.”

Tim carefully pulls up Jason’s undershirt, taking in the sight before him with critical eyes. Jason’s skin is mottled with ugly red and purple splotches, covering both of his sides and even disappearing around his back and past his hips in some places. Tim glances at Jason, whose eyes are still closed, and bites the inside of his cheek.

“You’re lucky. I’m pretty sure they’re just bruised.”

Jason scoffs. Tim lets it roll off of him and continues his examination. He leaves Jason’s ribs for the time being, disappears into the bathroom for the medkit, and grabs ice packs and towels from the kitchen. He wraps the ice packs with soft, thin towels and gently lays them on Jason’s sides. Jason hisses at the chill but slowly relaxes as the seconds pass.

Tim dabs disinfectant on every scrape and cut. He’s particularly careful with the deep marks on Jason’s knuckles, checking each hand to make sure there’s no debris embedded in the skin. He wraps Jason’s knee in a brace, bandages the bleeding cuts that line his arms. He frowns.

Jason’s gear may not be Wayne-funded anymore, but it’s still high quality. For a blade to cut through his jacket and actually pierce his skin? Tim bites his tongue to keep from asking the obvious question.

Once he’s confident that he’s done all that he can, Tim disposes of the blood-stained clothes. He leaves the medkit on the desk alongside Jason’s other gear, just in case. When he peeks back in the room after burning the washcloths in the kitchen, Jason’s sunk fully into the bed, eyes closed and breaths slowly and steady in his sleep.

Tim eases the door shut, leaving a small crack to let the soft light from the hall to spill into the room. He quietly makes his way back to the kitchen and promptly collapses in his normal stool at the breakfast bar. His arms brace against the counter to hold his weight, and Tim stares at his hands in front of him.

Dried blood lines the crevices of his palms, smeared across his skin like a stain. His eyes burn, his lungs burn, and Tim simply looks. His surroundings blur around him as everything fades into a dull buzz on the outskirts of his sense of awareness.

Tim’s not sure how long he sits there before a gentle hand settles on his shoulder.

He startles, heart leaping into his throat, and it takes a moment for Tim to realize that Ben is murmuring softly in his ear.

“... Tim, hey, Tim, it’s okay. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Tim swallows, looking up at Ben through his lashes. His vision is blurring with what he thinks may be tears. Ben’s face is open, concerned, and Tim falls forward.

Ben catches him, wrapping his arms around Tim’s back and holding onto him lightly, like he’s wary of any injuries. Tim feels like he can’t breathe.

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay, Tim, I got you. What’s happening?”

Tim presses his nose into Ben’s shoulder, arms wrapping around Ben’s torso and holding on tight. He squeezes his eyes shut, fingers twisting in the fabric of Ben’s suit jacket.

“It’s Jason,” he whispers, voice cracking.

“Jason?”

Tim nods. “I… I got home, and he was just  _ there _ . Ben… I… I thought… He wasn’t moving, and there was blood all over him, and I--”

“Hey, shh,” Ben soothes. “Come on. Sit down and tell me what happened.”

Tim sniffs but eases himself from Ben’s hold. He stubbornly rubs at his eyes, pulling himself back onto his stool, and wrapping his arms around himself. He tucks his hand out of sight. Ben appears in the seat next to him, leaning forward to give Tim his full attention.

Tim stares at the floor and forces himself to speak.“I got home late from the Tower, and when I got inside, Jason was unconscious on the floor. I got him set up in the spare room and cleaned him up. He’s sleeping now, but…” He shakes his head and feels his nails bite into his sides, even through his thick hoodie. “Ben, his throat was slit.”

Ben absorbs the information silently. He takes a moment to think before he speaks. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to go change into comfortable clothes and wash your hands. I’m going to let DI know I won’t be in for a few days, and we’ll keep an eye on Jason until he wakes up. We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”

Tim hesitantly meets Ben’s eyes. “Okay.”

Ben gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Go on then. I’m going to make some cocoa and get you something to eat.” Ben doesn’t even give him time to protest. “You haven’t eaten, Tim. You need to get something in your stomach before your blood sugar drops and you feel worse than you already do. Go get changed.”

Tim nods slowly before disappearing back down the hall and slipping into his room. He leaves his jeans and sweatshirt on the floor in a heap, pulling on a pair of soft, worn sweatpants and a jacket he appropriated from Kon and never gave back. When he buries his nose in the fabric, it still smells a little like the detergent he knows Mrs. Kent uses on the farm.

Tim heads towards Jason’s room, hesitating at the door. He pulls back and returns to the living room, grabbing his bo from where it lays on the floor, still fully extended from when he dropped it early. He collapses the staff and tucks it in his pants pocket, leaving it sticking out at an awkward angle, a familiar and welcome weight against his leg.

He doubles back to Jason’s room, hand hovering above the doorknob for a moment before he pushes inside. He keeps his steps light, creeping across the dark room almost silently. He doesn’t get too close to Jason’s bed, knowing that the man is probably only seconds away from jerking awake already.

Sliding down the wall across from Jason’s bed, Tim simply looks at Jason. Even in sleep, Jason is tense, on guard. Tim pulls his knees to his chest and watches.

Slowly, bit by bit, Tim begins to relax, letting go of the tension strung throughout his entire body. He exhales slowly, leaning his chin on his knees and allowing himself to close his eyes. Just as he starts to think that maybe he can maybe meditate to pass the time, give him some semblance of rest, there’s a loud banging echoing throughout the entire apartment.

Tim and Jason both jump to attention, though Jason hisses and tenderly wraps an arm around his ribs. Tim is on his feet, bo staff clutched between his fingers, though it’s still collapsed. Tim recognizes the banging as frantic knocking on the front door, and Tim grits his teeth. He doesn’t hear the door open, but he assumes Ben is there when the noise stops.

Tim glances behind him to see Jason throwing his legs over the side of the bed and preparing to get to his feet. Tim hesitates between staying with him and going to find Ben, but the choice is made for him when he hears Ben shout and a thud that means he’s probably fallen to the floor.

The staff snaps out until it’s fully extended, and Tim’s knuckles go white from how hard he’s holding it as he darts for the door. He stumbles when he realizes what Ben is actually yelling.

It’s his name. High and panicked in a tone Tim has only heard once twice before. Once when Ben found him on the street after Supergirl’s unwelcome visit, and then when Dick shattered the penthouse windows in New York.

Tim’s stomach drops, and he whirls around when he hears the window on the far wall, above the desk, sliding open. Tim whirls around, heart pounding when Dick Grayson, in full Nightwing regalia, tumbles through his window with an uncharacteristic clumsiness. Tim barely has time to react before Dick is reaching for him, talking quickly.

“Tim, don’t be mad. I’m sorry for breaking in, but you’re in danger and I need to get you out of here and to a safe house. Please just let me explain--”

Dick’s hands are about to grip his shoulders, and Tim’s breath disappears from his lungs, heart thudding almost painfully in his chest, panic enveloping him until he can’t--

Dick yelps as he narrowly dodges a kick to the head, and Tim doesn’t have a chance to blink before Jason’s hands are wrapping around him and depositing him securely behind him. Tim stares at Jason’s back, sees that he’s only in his undershirt and cargo pants, like he was when he was sleeping mere moments ago.

Dick’s strangled breath is audible even from across the room. “Jay… Jason? What are you doing here? Tim, how do you know him? Why is he here?! Get away from him! Now!”

Dick looks ready to lunge, and Jason merely plants himself even more firmly in front of Tim. If Tim didn’t know better, he wouldn’t even suspect that Jason had been unconscious and bleeding barely an hour ago.

“Don’t you watch the news, Dickwad?” he snarls. “I know for a fact that me shooting Big Blue and the little bitch made it to the national.”

Dick shakes himself out of his shocked stupor and mimics Jason’s stance with only minute differences, something taught to them by the same man, practically ingrained in them to their very bones. He pulls his escrima sticks from the holsters on his back, looking around Jason to catch Tim’s eye.

“Timmy,” he says calmly, softly, like he’s trying to be soothing when his voice practically makes Tim’s skin crawl, “just step away from him. You don’t know everything that’s going on here. Jason is not who you think he is, he isn’t stable.”

Jason twitches, barely noticeable, and Tim only sees it because he’s noticed the motion before whenever the Bats have come up in conversation.

“No the fuck I’m not, but  _ Tim  _ already knows that,” Jason says, smug and aggressive. “Just like he knows that I’m not going to hurt him.”

Dick clenches his jaw, but he’s chewing over Jason’s words, mind whirring. “What?” He shakes his head slightly and tightens his grips around his escrima. “Timmy, please, just listen to me. Come over here and we can talk everything out.”

Tim bares his teeth at the cavalier, overly calm tone. The one Nightwing uses when he’s trying to talk down those ready to fling themselves from the Sprang ridge. “Fuck you,” he hisses, something between and snarl and a snap. “Don’t patronize me, asshole. Jason has been here, and you’ve been in Gotham. I know where your loyalties lie.”

“I was in Gotham to protect you!”

Tim scowls. “How?”

“By stopping him!” Dick yells. “You don’t have all of the information here. Jason is dangerous; he is not the Robin you remember from your childhood.”

Jason growls. “I’ll show you just how dangerous I can be.”

Tim glares at Dick, hands shaking around his staff, his fingers going numb. Shiva would be furious at the misstep, the weakness. “Neither are you,” he tells Dick sharply. “And I know just how dangerous Jason can be. I’m not as naive as you think. I know about the Lazarus Pit and the pit madness. I know that he’s the Red Hood.” Tim’s getting choked up, and he can’t tell if he’s furious or scared or just plain sad. “I know that he stopped Supergirl from attacking me, that he shot her and Superman to protect me, and actually made sure to explain to me why he did what he did.”

Dick winces: “Timmy--”

“My name is Tim!” he shouts. “You weren’t there! Jason was! Simple as that.”

“Tim,” Dick says lowly, and Tim knows that he’s furious.

Tim doesn’t even give him the chance. “No! Enough with this bullshit! Where the hell were you when I was strapped down in the Batcave and drugged so they could drag me around the world without a word of explanation? Instead of talking to me, you broke into my home and held me down and accused me of being stupid and naive. What happened to supporting me through everything, huh? What would you do if Bruce decided to help kidnap Wally or Kori and tried to hide it from you? Locked you up so you couldn’t help save your best friend? Betrayed your trust in every single imaginable way? What would you have done?!”

Dick’s escrima sticks drop to the floor at the same moment that the door to the room bursts open and Ben rushes inside. Ben reaches for Tim’s shoulders, and Tim remains tense under his hold, staff remaining held in front of him.

Dick stares. Slowly, he holds up his hands and peels his domino away from his face. His eyes flicker between the three of them, from Tim to Jason to Ben.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Tell me everything, from the beginning. Please.”

Tim glares at him, gaze cold and calculating. Jason doesn’t take his eyes off of Dick, but Tim can see the faint tremble of his limbs, knows that Jason’s running on fumes and needs to rest. He stares Dick down for another long moment before he relents. He lowers his staff.

“Fine. But you are going to shut up and listen to what I have to say. I’m not going to try and explain myself to someone who won’t bother to listen.”

Dick nods slowly, looking almost like a kicked puppy. “I’ll listen, I promise.”

Tim leads him to the living room, Jason sticking close to his side the entire time. Tim knows that he’s actually helping support Jason so that he doesn’t stumble and fall, exhausted from his injuries and flight, and tense and furious from Dick’s sudden appearance. Ben follows them silently, his face carefully blank, lips thinned in displeasure.

They settle down silently, Dick perched precariously on the edge of the sole recliner, and Jason and Tim seated side by side of the sofa. Ben hovers behind them, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

Tim’s palms suddenly feel clammy, his stomach churning with unwelcome nerves. The reaction bothers him, and he knows that both Dick and Jason notice. Dick winces and lowers his eyes to the floor, looking anywhere but the sofa, and Jason leans slightly to the side, just enough that his shoulder brushes lightly against Tim’s.

Tim takes a deep breath and begins.

He explains everything, from eavesdropping in the Batcave, running through the tunnels, calling Kon and being knocked out by Batman wearing Bruce Wayne’s skin, banking on Alfred’s support only to be disappointed in the end. Being drugged and waking up mid-flight on the Justice League’s javelin with Superman glaring at him from across the jet and Wonder Woman chatting aimlessly with Batman about new security measures for the Watchtower. Being led inside the Peace Palace and using nerve strikes to numb Batman’s arms and break free, meeting up with Kon and the Titans.

His voice is calm, cool, collected as he recounts the phone call with Benjamin Reese, asking him to become his temporary guardian as the courts decide what to do with him after Bruce Wayne surrenders his parental rights. Tim doesn’t show any emotion, finds himself actually being able to compartmentalize and act like Batman trained him to, like he’s known for, like he hasn’t been able to do since the trial.

Everything is clear cut. Simple.

Drake Industries moves from Gotham to New York City. Ben and Tim move from New York City to San Francisco to establish DI’s new West Coast office and expand the company.

Everything is not clear cut and simple.

Supergirl tries to attack the Titans. Tim leaves the Tower to intervene in nothing but his sweatshirt. Superman appears. The Titans close rank to watch each other’s back. Supergirl gets her hands around Tim’s throat. 

Supergirl gets a bullet to the knee, Superman gets two to the thigh. Jason and Tim meet on a rooftop and bond over shitty experiences in Gotham, the city that has always been theirs, no matter how far they go.

Somehow, Jason and Tim become something close to friends. If not friends, allies. Allies who share safehouses and provide buildings to bomb and blow up said buildings that belong in nightmares and memories alone. Allies who go out for ice cream at four in the morning when Jason scares the shit out of Tim by knocking on his bedroom window at the Tower before the sun’s even risen.

Dick goes between glancing at Tim and Jason and staring at the single scuff on Ben’s coffee table. He listens, though, let’s Tim talk and doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t try to assure him that Bruce never meant to hurt him.

He listens, and his heart wrenches in his chest. Confusion and contradiction swirl within him and Dick lets out a long breath when Tim finishes speaking. His head drops into his hands, propping himself up by resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sorry, Tim.”

Jason scoffs, and Tim flicks his ear. He looks at Dick, and he doesn’t quite know what to feel. Apathy is not a good coping method, and Tim knows this, but some things from his childhood will never go away. So he looks. Watches as Dick grinds the palm of his hands into his eyes and breath deeply. Feels something-nothing-everything as his somewhat brother tries to make sense of everything he’s just heard.

Dick finally raises his head and forces himself to meet Tim’s eye. “I’m so sorry, Tim, I really am. I know it’s not an excuse, but… I had no idea what was happening until you were already living in New York. I was undercover in Moldova, and when I got back no one was willing to explain anything to me. Bruce was being held by the United Nations, Superman was throwing a fit, the League was in shambles.” He swallows thickly. “Alfred was furious.”

Jason and Tim both wince. Alfred is the one untouchable piece of the Bat family. They all have roles to play, but at the end of the day, they’re all expendable. Even Batman.

But Alfred can never be replaced. And everyone knows better than to threaten the one thing that has kept Batman sane throughout the years.

“So, what,” Jason recovers quickly. “you decide that tracking Tim down and breaking into his house is the best way to get information?”

Dick winces. “I know that was the wrong thing to do. And I regret it. I regretted it the minute I realized how scared you were.” His voice is thick, strangled. “How scared you were of  _ me _ .”

“You sure it’s not when Superbrat planted your ass on the floor?”

Tim flicks him again. Dick scowls.

“Yes,” he says scathingly. “I knew I was wrong when Tim had a panic attack just talking about Bruce.”

Jason glares, meeting Dick’s scowl with his own. Tim frowns at both of them, and when Dick meets his eyes, he looks away.

“After what happened in New York, I went back to Gotham. Bruce got back a few days later, but before I could ask him anything, you,” He turns to Jason, face twisted in anger and pain. “started a gang war and tried to blow us all up.”

Jason scoffs. “I didn’t try, Dick. If I really wanted to blow Batman up, I would have. My bombs did exactly what I intended them to do.”

Dick’s eyes narrow. “So you decide that firebombing Tim’s house, your replacement’s  _ home _ , was what, a fun experiment in pyrotechnics?” He shakes his head. “Jason, we thought that you blowing up Drake Manor was you declaring that you wanted Tim dead.”

Tim recoils, and even Jason draws back. Dick glances hesitantly between the two of them. Tim grits his teeth.

“I’m the one who told Jason to bomb Drake Manor. I don’t have any fond memories of that place. It’s an empty shell of a house that was never and home, and if you think otherwise, well… you obviously don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”

Dick frowns. “I just want to keep you safe, Tim. Bruce be damned, if that’s what you want, but…” He trails off, glancing at Jason before pursing his lips and looking away. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Too little, too late,” Jason says, throwing an arm over the back of the sofa so that it is nearly around Tim’s shoulders.

“The first thing I did after your stupid little stunt in Gotham was come here to make sure that Tim was safe,” Dick says savagely. “I didn’t want to be halfway across the country if he needed me, not when last time, I was on the other side of the planet.”

Jason bares his teeth. “At least you were still on Earth this time.”

Dick recoils in a full-body flinch. “Jay, I… Little Wing, if I’d known--”

“Just don’t,” Jason interrupts. “Don’t try and fill the kid’s head with false platitudes of brotherly love and friendship. I know you,  _ Dickiebird _ . At the end of the day, if Batman says “jump,” you’re going to ask “how high?”, other promises be damned.”

Dick fumes. “That’s not true, Jason. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m making sure that you don’t kill Tim like you have with half of Gotham’s underworld!”

“Oh right, because those bastards didn’t deserve a bullet between the eyes!”

“That’s not your decision to make! You are not the judge, the jury, and the executioner, Jason. You don’t get to decide everything that happens in Gotham.”

Jason laughs, dark and sardonic. “I run Gotham’s criminal underworld, asshole. I can be whoever the hell I need to be.”

“Well I hope you’re happy then,” Dick sneers, “because you’re nothing more than a murdering--”

“Enough!”

Dick and Jason both startle, turning to face Tim, whose hands have curled into fists and cut deep crescents into his palms.

“Tim, he’s dangerous, and I know you don’t want to see it--”

“If Jason is so intent on hurting me, why the hell was he passed out on my floor with a slit throat when I got home tonight?”

Dick clenches his jaw but has no response.

“Go back to Gotham, Dick.” Tim allows himself to sound as tired as he really is. “Jason is going to bed, and I’m going to write a report about what just happened and pass out. Next time you want to chat about my life choices, just pick up the phone.”

Dick is gone by morning.

/\/\/\

Winter hits San Francisco, and Tim barely notices. Compared to Gotham, the weather is practically balmy. Finals come and go, and Tim is more than happy to flop down onto the couch and drown himself in blankets. After the first three days of sitting around the apartment, Tim decides to follow Ben to work before DI goes on its own ten-day break for the holidays.

Jason shows up on Christmas Eve with a duffle bag tossed over his shoulder. “Ho, ho, ho,” is all he says when Tim’s eyebrows raise at the sight of him on the doorstep.

“I’m Jewish,” Tim reminds him.

Jason shrugs. “Happy Hanukkah. You gonna invite me in or what?”

They crash on the couch and do what Tim assumes other kind of/sort of vigilante partners with an inclination to something akin to friendship so when they spend time together. They watch trashy movies on TV and devour junk food like they don’t go out at night wearing masks and kevlar to fight crime and therefore need to remain in good shape. Jason pelts him with rolled-up wrappers, and Tim retaliates by stealing his favorite candies when he’s not looking.

Ben is amused at the sight of the two bickering about the practicality of domino masks over cowls and the ‘true definition’ of classical literature. When he gets home from work and finds the two of them passed out together on the couch with  _ Frosty the Snowman  _ playing in the background, he feels something warm and hopeful flutter in his chest. (And if he snaps a few pictures of the two, well, no one needs to know.)

Jason gets ready to leave three days after arriving, something about gangbangers and responsibilities. Tim sits with him as he folds his clothes and gently tucks the tin of cookies Ben gave him into his bag.

“So, have you decided on that new identity yet?”

Tim glances at Jason from the corner of his eye before looking away. “I haven’t,” he admits. “I promised Wonder Girl I’d have something for her by New Year’s, so I’ll have to figure something out in the next four days.”

Jason zips up the packed duffle and stares at Tim with an intensity that makes him want to hunch his shoulders and look at his shoes. After a minute, Jason reaches out and ruffles his hair.

“Tell you what,” he says. “Before I bit the dust, I had another name. I didn’t keep it for long, and no one outside the team knew about it.”

Tim looks at him inquisitively. Jason musters a smile.

“Red Robin was an idea that never took off. You want it?”

Tim blinks. His mouth opens, then closes, and Jason can’t help but think that he looks a little bit like a fish. He fights to keep from laughing. 

“Are you sure?” Tim asks. “It was your name, and even if…”

“Kid,” Jason interrupts gently, “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. I barely spent any time as Red Robin.” He snorts. “We can even redesign the disaster that was the uniform.”

“That bad?” Tim asks.

“That bad,” Jason confirms.

Tim nods slowly, biting his lip and shifting uncertainly. Jason raises an eyebrow, and he stops, shoulders hunching.

“Sorry. It’s just… It’s still Robin, and I don’t… Dick might take it the wrong way, and it might piss off Bruce. I just…”

Jason sets a steady hand on Tim’s shoulder and leans down to meet his eyes. “You can’t hide forever, baby bird,” he says softly. “Robin might be Batman’s partner, might have Gotham in his blood, but Red Robin doesn’t belong anywhere. It’s a fresh start. It might have ties to your past, yeah, but it’s still something you can make your own.”

Tim looks up at him with wide eyes. Jason ruffles his hair once again.

“Red Hood started out as an alias for the Joker. When I came back, I took the mantle and made it my own.”

“You did it to piss the Joker off.”

Jason grins. “Maybe,” he concedes, “but it was also a reminder. I wasn’t Robin anymore, but I also wasn’t ready to forget where I came from.”

Tim’s brows furrow as he thinks, considers. He takes a deep breath and smiles, small and barely a quirk of his lips. “I think I’d like that, Jason. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Jason tosses his duffle bag over his shoulder. “We can draw up a uniform design once I’m back in Gotham and get you all decked out.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Tim follows Jason through the apartment until they’re standing at the doorway. Jason nudges his side on his way out, giving Tim a two-fingered salute on the way.

“I’ll see you around, Little Red.”

Tim huffs, exasperated but also silently pleased. “What is it with you and nicknames?”

Jason’s grin is the only thing he gets in response.

/\/\/\

Ben drops him off at the Tower on New Year’s Eve, insisting that there’s no reason for him to take his motorcycle when he has a perfectly warm, heated car. Tim smiles and tosses his bag in the backseat without a complaint.

The Tower is as lively as ever. Tim is the last to arrive, and he finds the others spread throughout the kitchen. Kon is at the counter, mixing flour and brown sugar into a large bowl. Cassie is seasoning chicken and vegetables, and Bart is proudly pulling a tray of cookies from the oven. Tim drops his backpack on the floor by the couch and joins them.

“Bart,” Kon warns, pointing his spatula at the speedster. “Leave the cookies on the cooling tray. Don’t eat them straight out of the oven or you’ll burn your tongue.”

Bart nods with wide eyes, and Kon gives him one last pointed look before turning back to his mixing bowl. Tim grins when not even a minute later, Bart is yelping, his cheeks bulging as freshly baked butterscotch cookies burn away his taste buds.

Tim tries to turn his laugh into a cough as Kon whirls around and glares.

“I told you so!”

“My tastebuds,” Bart whimpers.

“Don’t worry,” Cassie says, “they’ll regenerate.”

Bart whimpers again, and the others laugh before returning to their tasks. Tim rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie and takes his regular place next to Kon. He works on kneading the dough they’ll use for Cassie’s goodie rolls in the morning--heavenly chunks of baked, toasted bread coated in homemade caramel and extra brown sugar.

The Titans chat amicably amongst themselves while they work. They sit down for dinner before piling into the living room, dropping into their respective spots like stones.

“We really should go out tonight,” Tim says.

Kon glanced down at him. “The city will survive another night without us.”

“Crime has the potential to rise exponentially during the holidays and--”

Kon throws his arm around Tim’s shoulder and pulls him closer until his face is tucked into Kon’s shoulder, muffling his words. They pull up the stream for the midnight countdown in New York, waiting to watch the ball drop for the new year. It’s nearly nine in San Francisco, and the thunderous roar of the crowd echoes through the cameras as the countdown begins.

The ball drops and Kon leans in and presses a quick kiss to Tim’s lips. Tim swats at him, though he’s laughing and leaning into Kon’s comfortable warmth as he does.

“We still have another three hours here, you dork.”

Kon smiles and buries his nose in Tim’s hair. Bart makes gagging noises across the room and Cassie ignores them and looks through her phone. The time passes easily, and they turn off the live stream of the party in New York in favor of movies and popcorn. 

Bart passes out shortly after eleven, and Cassie retreats to her room, yawning, and eyeing Kon and Tim suspiciously. The two boys remain on the couch, Tim’s head resting on Kon’s chest as they start a new movie after the other ends.

The Tower is dark, quiet, peaceful.

Tim finds himself relaxing, snuggling further into Kon’s chest. He tucks himself against Kon’s side until they’re flush together, Kon’s arm around his shoulders in a half-hug, meeting Tim halfway and leaning into him.

The movie fades to the background, and Tim feels his eyes droop. Kon is warm, and combining his natural heat and the extra layer of warmth provided by the fluffy blanket draped over their laps means that Tim is wrapped in toasty Heaven. He lets his eyes close and allows himself to drift.

/\/\/\

An alarm shatters the silence of the night.

Tim jerks awake, taking only a few seconds to become alert and aware. He moves silently to his feet as Kon stirs beneath him. They move together, steps light and breathing even, creeping out of the living area and towards the panic room, the designated meeting spot for Titans during an emergency.

Bart and Cassie are already there, the panic room being close to the bedrooms in order to make a quick escape. The door shuts behind them, and Tim immediately moves to the back of the room, removing the hidden panel and revealing a cache of supplies.

“What are we looking at?” Tim asks, pulling a utility belt around his waist, leaving it in place on the top of his sweatpants.

“An alarm was tripped on the roof,” Cassie says. “It doesn’t seem like the Tower has been breached, but there are hostiles on the property. The cameras haven’t picked anything up yet, and it was just the one alarm tripped.”

“Has everything gone into lockdown?” Bart asks.

Cassie shakes her head. “Only the armory, war room, and Tim’s various hidden stashes have been locked down. Since only one alarm was tripped and it was outside, lockdown is only in stage one.”

“Okay.” Tim takes a deep breath and slaps one of his old dominos over his eyes. He doesn’t have his current mask with him; it’s in the armory with the rest of his gear. 

“Plan?” Cassie asks. “Are you good to continue as the field strategist?”

Tim nods in affirmation, not wasting a single second. “Protocol Delta Charlie. Wonder Girl, take levels eight through ten. Impulse, levels six and seven. Superboy, levels three through five. I’ll take one and two and check the security protocols on the basement and garage.” He reaches into the cache and drops a comlink in everyone’s hand. “Comms check every seven minutes. Understood?”

The Titans nod, faces grim and focused. Tim meets their eyes.

“Scatter.”

Immediately, the Titans duck out of the panic room, heading for the stairs and beginning to search their assigned floors. Tim works his way down to the second floor, checking over the production and testing labs before moving onto the storage rooms. When he deems that the floor is clear, he moves to the stairs. The timer he linked to his comm beeps in his ear, and Tim creeps silently down the stairs.

“Red Robin, checking in. How’s everyone doing?”

_ “Impulse, checking in. And when did you pick a name? Red Robin? Really?” _

“I’ll explain later. Right now, we have other things to worry about.”

_ “Whoops,” _ Bart says, not sounding sorry at all.

_ “Wonder Girl, checking in,”  _ Cassie says. _ “Level eight is clear. Moving up to level nine.” _

“Received,” Tim responds, unlocking the door to the first floor, the one that’s heavily fortified to keep unwanted visitors from sneaking out of the lobby and into the actual Tower. Superboy, you there?”

Kon grunts over the comm. _ “The entrance to level four has been tampered with.” _

Tim goes still for half a second before he continues moving. “How long ago did you notice.”

_ “Just now. It’s not noticeable until you touch it and get zapped. The voltage was enough to knock out a regular human.” _

Tim purses his lips. “Understood. Assume we’re operating under protocol Echo India Sierra. Stay on your toes.”

The Titans murmur their agreements and the comms go silent once again. Tim pops out of the staircase and carefully surveys the Tower’s lobby. It’s simple, plain. A large welcome desk and plenty of comfortable chairs and sofas scattered throughout. The hallway branches out into a small but fully-equipped med room, made in case there’s an emergency or not enough time to get to the actual med bay upstairs. Tim continues walking.

Tim makes his way to the other side of the floor, finding the well-hidden door that leads to the basement and the sublevels of the Tower that very few people know about. The entry codes change every three days, but the current code is scrambled and rearranged every three hours. Tim is so busy punching in the fifteen digit code that he nearly doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him.

Nearly.

Tim pulls the bo staff strapped to the back of his belt, whirling around and allowing the bo to expand as he moves. The strike of a sword clashes against the steel of his bo just as it reaches its full length. The force of the blow reverberates down Tim’s arms. He uses his bo to push back at the intruder, giving himself more space, even if he’s backed against a wall.

He takes in the scene before him, and it feels as though his heart has stopped in his chest.

Standing in front of him and brandishing a katana is Robin. Well, a Robin. Tim’s throat feels tight at the sight of the boy. And that’s who this new Robin is--a boy, a child.

Tim’s mind whirs. Batman may be out of UN custody, but he’s still on probation. He’s not allowed to train a sidekick. Batman needs a Robin, but right now, Batman doesn’t get one because the United Nations believes he’s a high risk for neglect or abuse.

(“Overworking you to the point where you weren’t sleeping isn’t normal, Tim,” Kon had told him. “He may not have hit you, but that doesn’t mean that he was taking care of you.”)

“You,” the boy sneers, grip tightening around the hilt of his sword, “have dishonored the name Wayne, have smeared the integrity of the Batman. You must pay for your transgressions.”

Tim stares at the child. The boy dressed in a modified version of the Robin uniform. It obviously doesn’t come from WayneTech, but it still appears to be high end. The boy is fit for someone as young as him (which, no room to judge) and when he speaks, there’s a hint of an accent. Something Middle Eastern if Tim has to wager a guess.

Pressing the button on his bo that will alert his teammates that he’s found the intruder (if they haven’t already heard through the comms, that is), Tim asks idly “And how’s that going to work?”

“Simple,” the boys says seriously. “You must forfeit your life!”

Tim’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t have time to fully process the statement and its many connotations before the boy is throwing himself at Tim, sword in hand. He blocks the boy’s blows, uses his bo staff to push him away and keep the distance between them from shrinking.

“Afraid already?” the boy snips. “I expected more from a disciple of the Batman, even one such as the likes of you.”

Tim grits his teeth. The boy charges once more.

He grows frustrated each time Tim blocks a blow or bats him out of the way with his bo, using only a fraction of his strength to keep from hurting him. Maybe he shouldn’t go easy on the child intent to kill him with the ability to appropriately wield a sword, but something doesn’t sit right with Tim about even potentially hurting a boy years younger than himself.

In retrospect, he should remember how vicious he could be as a child, as dangerous he could be as Robin. Maybe then he wouldn’t have focused on stalling the boy and tiring him out instead of knocking him down and restraining him while he calls the Justice League.

Maybe, in retrospect, if Tim had remembered these things, he wouldn’t have gotten stabbed. Granted, the reason he did get stabbed is that he was distracted by Kon’s frantic appearance and allowed the boy to get close.

The pain explodes, sudden and consuming. His bo clatters to the ground as he keels slightly forward. Tim grits his teeth to keep from screaming, though he’s not sure if he succeeds or not. He knows for sure that he’s gasping at the pain, and his breath whooshes from his lungs as the boy twists the blade, smiling all the while.

Tim reaches for his bo and uses it to smack the boy across the head while he’s distracted.

The maybe-Robin stumbles backward, pulling his sword with him as he goes. Tim yelps at the tug as blood wells to the surface, soaking his t-shirt and staining it red. He remembers to press his hands to the wound to try and staunch the bleeding, but Tim’s attention is elsewhere as the boy pulls something from his utility belt.

The room glows green, and Kon falls to his knees.

_ Oh _ , Tim thinks absently,  _ how did he get kryptonite? _

Kon curls inward and Tim feels the urge to forget his own injury and surprise the boy in order to grab the kryptonite and seal it away in his own lead-lined belt. Yet his vision is blurring, the world tilting as his ears buzz unpleasantly.

_ Oh _ , Tim thinks absently,  _ I’m passing out because of blood loss. _

/\/\/\

The world is unbearably bright.

Tim doesn’t know much at the moment, only that he aches with bone-deep pain and that his eyes can’t handle the searing white trying to burn away his corneas.

He blinks, trying to clear the blurriness of his vision. He hears the murmurs of voices, and blessedly, the light dims, and Tim can see. Ben is sitting in a chair next to Tim’s bed, and Jason is standing along the wall, pulling the curtains shut before returning to Tim’s side.

“Hey, kiddo,” Ben says, voice hoarse and scratchy.

Tim frowns. Ben’s hair is messy, and he has stubble lining his jaw. Ben takes pride in being clean-shaven. There are dark bags under his eyes, Ben is slouching in his chair, and everything feels wrong.

“Wha’ h’pp’ned,” Tim asks, brows furrowing when the words don’t come out the way he wants them to.

“You got stabbed,” Jason says.

“Oh.”

Jason snorts. “Yeah. Oh.”

Tim looks up at him, ignores the shadows crawling at the edge of his line of sight, the growing heaviness of his eyelids. His brows furrow. “Why’re you here?”

Jason frowns. “What, don’t want me here, pipsqueak?”

Tim tries to shake his head but stops when it makes him dizzy. “You’re busy,” he explains sleepily. “You’ve got stuff to do in Gotham. Important stuff.”

Jason hesitates before sitting on the edge of Tim’s bed. “You idiot,” he says. “I’m not going to let my little brother almost bleed out without checking on him.”

Tim smiles dopily as his eyes drift closed. His chest feels warm for some reason, warm and cozy, and Tim falls asleep moments later.

/\/\/\

The next time Tim wakes up, he’s more clear-headed and the pain is dulled, but he’s more conscious of it than he was before. His throat feels like the desert, and his eyes feel like they’ve been coated in a layer of sand to match.

He pries his eyes open, shifting when he hears angry, hushed whispers. He looks around the room, quickly spotting Jason standing in the corner, hands curled into fists at his side. And it looks like he’s whisper-fighting with… Dick?

Tim blinks and tries to rub at his eyes, frowning when he feels a tug. He looks down and sees an IV taped to his hand. The whispers cease, and Tim looks back up to see Dick smiling at him and Jason glowering behind his back.

Dick’s smile is tight, dark bags under his eyes and expression pinched in a mix of emotions Tim can’t quite decipher. He’ll blame the drugs. He’s probably high on morphine right now. He hates morphine. It makes everything feel floaty, takes away logic, control. Tim avoids it when he can. Though, at the moment, he’s clear-headed enough that he may be on some other painkiller.

His attention is drawn back to the two men in front of him when Dick meets his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Timmy. Damian’s not supposed to go out as Robin. He’s not allowed to because of the UN’s guidelines, and even then, he’s not ready. He’s not in a good place.”

“Obviously,” Jason sneers.

Dick ignores him. “He stole the costume while I was following a lead in Bludhaven and Batman was up at the Watchtower. We didn’t know he was gone until Alfred called us. I don’t even know how he got here.”

Tim blinks slowly, trying to absorb the information dumped on him. He glances between Jason and Dick, trying to think past the drugs and read them like he knows he can. Jason is… furious? He doesn’t know what Dick is.

His tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth as he asks, “Who?” He frowns when he doesn’t manage to say anything more.

Dick’s brows furrow. “Who what?”

“The demon brat, you idiot,” Jason says.

Dick casts his eyes to the floor. “His name is Damian al Ghul. He’s… Bruce is his dad, and Talia decided to drop him on B to finish his training.”

“Why does he want to kill me?” Tim swallows around the words, and his throat feels like he’s swallowed glass. The fight between them, if it can even be called that, is blurry, and Tim can’t remember the words exchanged between them.

“Damian,” Dick starts, hesitating, “was raised in the League of Assassins. He’s been training since birth, and he doesn’t know how the real world works. In the League, to properly ascend the ranks, you have to kill your predecessor. Damian thinks that it’s his blood right to be Batman, and therefore he must be Robin to finish his training.”

“And as the last Robin there was, the little brat thought he had to kill Tim,” Jason spits. “Yeah, sure thing, Dickie. God, would it have killed you to at least call? Maybe send a goddamn postcard if that’s too much to ask?”

“Wait,” Tim frowns, brows drawing together in confusion, “you knew that Bruce had a son who wanted to kill me?”

Dick doesn’t meet his eyes. Tim feels anger, hot and boiling underneath the surface of his skin, practically simmering in his veins.

“You knew, after everything that’s happened, that he wanted me _dead?_ And you didn’t think, ‘hey, maybe I should call Tim and warn him?’ Really, Dick?” His eyes sting, and Tim closes his eyes and leans his head back as he tries to breathe. “I thought… I thought you at least cared enough to warn me when someone is _actively trying to_ _kill me_.”

“Tim,” Dick says, sounding pained, “you have to understand. Damian was raised by the  _ League of Assassins.  _ He’s never been a child, never had the chance to learn right from wrong. With Bruce with the JLA and me in Blud, no one was watching him like we normally do. He spent so much time with the League--”

“And that keeps you from calling me?”

“Timmy, please, you have to understand--”

“No,” Tim says scathingly, using his hands to push himself up in the hospital bed so he can glare at Dick. “Not again. I don’t have to understand everything. Bruce is not always right just because he’s the goddamn Batman. I don’t give a shit if he’s a founding member of the JLA or the fucking president of the United States. I don’t have to understand people trying to kill me because I shouldn’t have to!”

His pulse is thudding dangerously fast, beating so hard that he can feel it in his neck and wrists, every beat of his heart burning in his chest. The stinging in his eyes grows worse as his throat tightens with grief and anger and so many other things that he doesn’t know how to describe.

“I should have to worry about supervillains and evil scientists trying to off me, not my own teammates, _ my own family. _ You said we were brothers, and you just expect me to understand?!”

There’s a loud, incessant beeping registering in the back of Tim’s mind, but he pays it no attention as he snarls, leaning forward like he’s going to wrap his hands around Dick’s throat and squeeze until he understands. Shake him until his brain rights itself in his head and his synapses begin firing appropriately. He’s panting now, struggling to find purchase on the stupid white sheets and make Dick ‘understand.’

There’s a cacophony of voices blending into the disjointed symphony of Tim’s raging emotions. He can’t hear what they’re saying, can only focus on the fury-wretched-tired that’s roaring through his blood like a wildfire.

The only thing that Tim notices is the sudden, flaring pain spiking across his skin, digging into flesh, muscle, and bone until Tim can’t feel anything but the tear of sutures ripping away from his skin and the memory of the twist of a sword in his gut.

Tim crumbles forward, and Dick and Jason both startle before jumping into action. Jason rushes forward, shushing Tim and urging him to lay back down.

“Fuck, babybird,” he hisses, watching as a red stain begins to bleed through the thin fabric of his shirt. “You gotta calm down; c’mon, lay down, there you go. You gotta breathe.”

Tim breathes through his teeth, latching onto Jason’s voice as he does. Jason pulls up his shirt, gently probing the hot skin, apologizing when Tim clenches his jaw to keep from crying out.

“I know, ‘m sorry, Tim, but I need to check your stitches.”

Tim nods, focusing on slowing his breathing and working through the pain. Jason ignores everything other than the torn stitches beneath him, right until Dick reaches out and touches Tim’s knee in an attempt of comfort, and Tim jerks away from the touch. Dick looks crestfallen, but his reaction is overshadowed by the slam of the room’s door hitting the wall.

“What happened?”

Dick makes an effort not to scowl. “Don’t worry, Superboy,” he placates. “Tim just moved too quickly.”

“Bullshit,” Kon says hotly. “I heard his heart rate spike from the basement.”

He pushes past Dick without another word and kneels down by Tim’s bed, crouching next to Jason and smoothing his fingers through Tim’s matted hair.

“What happened?” he asks again.

“Dickwing over there thought it was a good idea to tell Tim that he just needs to ‘understand’ why a ten-year-old tried to kill him,” Jason says. “Grab me some bandages and the sutures.”

Kon murmurs something in Tim’s ear before reluctantly pulling away, moving to the other side of the room where a cabinet of medical supplies sits in the corner. He grabs a roll of gauze and the suturing kit. He hands them off to Jason before pulling himself up onto the bed, holding Tim lightly to his side and continuing to run his hand through Tim’s hair and murmur soothing words in his ear.

Jason works quickly, staunching the flow of fresh blood before redoing Tim’s torn stitches. Dick has moved to stand quietly against the back wall, silently watching the others with wide, horrified eyes. He has to bite his tongue and ignore the roiling of his stomach as Jason says,

“You’re okay, babybird. The little shit isn’t gonna hurt you, okay? Not again. I’m here for you, and you got your dad and that clone of yours. You’ll be okay, we got you.”

/\/\/\

The Watchtower has always been something of a wonder to Tim. An amazing feat of engineering aside, it’s home to the Justice League; stands as Earth’s first defense against the rest of the universe, very little of which they know of, let alone can comprehend.

Tim finds that the Watchtower is nothing like he thought. Instead, it’s cold--cold, unyielding, and a stark darkness against the hope Tim once thought it stood for.

He hears Kon approach, sees his reflection in the glass window that allows Tim to peer into the never-ending abyss of space. Kon comes to stand behind him, and Tim can feel the warmth that he continually gives off, a perk of his Kryptonian DNA. He doesn’t hesitate to lean into it.

“You ready?” Kon asks.

“As I’ll ever be.” Tim turns away from the window, gives Kon’s shoulder a quick squeeze and uses it to ground himself. “We should get going.”

Kon nods but remains silent in support. They walk together, moving silently through the halls of the Watchtower until they come to the auditorium where League-wide meetings are held. Tim and Kon take their seats to the side of the room, in the section designated for visitors, which is in the line of sight of every other member of the JLA.

Tim knows where Batman, Nightwing, and the Supers sit. He pointedly avoids looking in their direction, even as he feels what he assumes is Dick’s pleading look pinned on him, even as Wonder Woman makes her way down to the stage.

The quiet murmurs that fill the room come to a stop. The auditorium is set up as a half-stadium, with rows of seats creating a half-crescent and rising several rows up, allowing everyone to be in view at once. Wonder Woman comes to stand at the podium in the middle of the stage, and all eyes come to rest on her.

“We have assembled here today to discuss several altercations that have occurred over the past four months,” she says. “I know there have been many rumors and many assumptions have been made, but very few know the truth of what has happened.”

Tim watches as whispers spread throughout the gathered Leaguers as Wonder Woman recalls the last few months. Kon reaches for his hand, and Tim takes it thankfully. By the time Wonder Woman has finished recounting the ‘altercation’ between the Teen Titans and the supers that ‘ended with the emergence of the anti-hero, Red Hood,’ most of the Leaguers are wide-eyed with shock. When she goes to continue, someone calls out,

“Wait, there’s  _ more _ ?”

Wonder Woman purses her lips. “On the first of January, an alarm was activated in Titan’s Tower. The Titans followed protocol to investigate, and Robin--” Tim flinches slightly. Kon squeezes his hand tighter. “--was attacked by a young boy claiming to be the son of Batman.”

Whispers rise into half-shouts of surprise and disbelief. Wonder Woman silences them by raising a single hand. Her eyes are narrow, lips pursed in annoyance as she continues, 

“We are here today to discuss the appropriate consequences of unsanctioned missions. I have also received a proposal to create a system in which underaged heroes report to a hero unaffiliated with their teacher on a regular basis to prevent any… unseemly actions.”

“Great way to avoid saying the word abuse,” Tim mutters under his breath. Based on the glare Wonder Woman sends him from the corner of her eye, she hears him and is not amused.

“There will be a branch of the League that will check in with all those under the age of eighteen alongside their regular duties. The branch will be assembled by League members with appropriate training and resumes.” She glances briefly in the Titans direction before saying, “I open the floor to discussion.”

There are murmurs, even though no one moves to speak. Tim grits his teeth and forces himself to turn on his microphone, allowing everyone to hear him.

“I would like to officially change my affiliation status. I no longer work in Gotham or alongside Batman, and as such, I would like it to be documented that I am a Titan operative only.”

The stares are nearly overwhelming, but with Kon at his back, Tim manages to keep from stumbling. He wishes Bart and Cassie could be there, but he and Kon were only allowed access to a League meeting due to their roles in the events that lead to it being called in the first place.

Wonder Woman nods, lips pursed. “Is that all?”

“No.” Tim holds his head high as the Justice League stare him down. “I no longer hold the mantle of Robin, and as such, I request my profile is changed to my new identity: Red Robin.”

Before anyone can speak, Batman’s voice booms throughout the room. All eyes leave Tim to focus on the Bat, whose hands are curled into tight fists on the table in front of him.

“You have no right to that name,” he snaps. “It was given to another boy, and even though it never debuted, you have no claim.”

Tim meets Batman’s eye for the first time in over four months. Bruce Wayne’s famous blue eyes are hidden by the white-out lenses of the cowl, and it helps Tim stare him down from across the room.

“It was offered to me, actually.”

Batman’s shoulders tighten. “And why on Earth would the Red Hood give you the identity he planned on taking after he left my mentorship?”

Tim shrugs. “He thought it was symbolic.”

The members of the League watch the two with apt attention, gazes flickering from Batman to Red Robin. Batman tightens his jaw, and Wonder Woman interjects before he can say anything else.

“The Red Hood has been toying the line of anti-hero and criminal since his arrival,” she says, looking directly at Tim. “Is this to mean that you associate with a man who regularly breaks the law and commits murder?”

Tim meets her eyes and asks, “You really think that’s a good idea?”

Wonder Woman raises a single eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Tim leans forward in his seat, feels Kon’s warm hand on his back. “Let’s put it this way,” he says. “Out of everyone in this room, the only person outside of the current incarnation of the Titans that I trust is the Red Hood. If it weren’t for him, I might not be here right now because Supergirl got a little too grab happy with my throat.”

Superman sets a heavy hand on Kara’s shoulder, and Tim knows he’s using his enhanced strength to keep her from lunging. He whispers something in her ear, fingers tightening. Tim looks away before they notice his glance.

“I’m sure that there is another hero in the JLA that you would be willing to work with,” Wonder Woman says. “Many of them have been here for you and other young heroes for years; there must be at least one you can trust.”

“That’s what I thought about Batman too.” He ignores the inhale of surprise from many of the Leaguers at his blunt words. He doesn’t react, merely continuing sharply. “Working with someone and trusting them are two very different things.”

“And you trust a murderer?” Wonder Woman asks pointedly.

“Say what you will,” Tim says savagely, “but the Red Hood saved my life when Supergirl attacked me in my civilian clothes. He’s not the only murderer out there. There are quite a few members of the League who have killed before, so let’s not pretend here. You’re using a double standard, Wonder Woman. After all, you’d be a hypocrite if you condemn a man over murder when you’ve crossed the line yourself.”

There are several shouts--surprised, outraged, questioning--and Tim doesn’t stop.

“Stop trying to derail the meeting by dragging a name through the mud. Red Hood is on a watchlist but has yet to be added to the League’s active database of criminals because so far he’s only killed those you deserved it.”

“And who are you to decide who deserves to die?” someone shouts from the stands.

Tim looks in their direction, scanning the entire row and meeting nearly everyone’s eye. “Red Hood has only killed other murderers, rapists, and drug dealers who sell to kids. He may work in the underbelly of Gotham, but he controls crime; he doesn’t endorse it. The statistics speak for themselves.”

Wonder Woman opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, Black Canary stands up from her place beside Green Arrow.

“That’s enough,” she says. “You’ve both made your points. Now let's discuss what we came here to discuss. I, for one, am in full support of a system that protects underage heroes and values their mental and physical health.  _ That  _ is what is important here.”

Tim smiles as others rise and stand with her.

/\/\/\

Superman is suspended for three weeks, save dire circumstances. (As in a worldwide invasion and nothing less.)

Supergirl is suspended for six weeks and will be on probation for eight more.

It’s not all that Tim hopes for, but it’s more than he thinks he will get.

/\/\/\

Batman will not work a mission with Red Robin without his explicit permission ever again. They are not tied together in any way, and Batman is responsible for making sure that any future disciples (who can’t be taken on for a minimum of five years) do not threaten or harm Tim or those associated with him.

The conversation eventually comes to Damian. Tim remains silent, ignoring the urge to check the still wound to his side, where his stitches were only removed a week ago. Beyond the disbelief that Batman has a biological child, conveniently revealed only when he’s under observation.

“I learned of his existence three months ago,” Batman explains, “weeks after the trial ended and a verdict was given.”

Black Canary crosses her arms skeptically. “And yet, he still became Robin and managed to fly to San Francisco and infiltrate Titan’s Tower?”

“I did not give him permission to take the Robin costume or use the Batplane.”

“And he felt the need to go to the Tower, why?” Black Canary asks, face slowly twisting into a scowl.

Batman’s jaw tightens, and Nightwing leans forward, taking his chance to speak.

“The boy is young,” he says. “He was raised that in order to succeed he must be better than his predecessor, and so he thought that the best was to accomplish this was to beat Rob--” He stumbles, but recovers quickly. “Red Robin in a fight.”

“That’s a lie.”

The attention of the room snaps away from Nightwing, noticing Kon for the first time. Very few of them have interacted with him, and most of them only see a clone of Superman, tainted with the DNA and influence of Lex Luthor. Kon isn’t bothered.

“The boy came to Titan’s Tower to kill Red Robin for separating himself from Batman and therefore dishonoring him. He broke into the Tower while we were sleeping, lured Red Robin away, and attacked him with no prior warning. He didn’t want a fight; he wanted to kill someone in order to increase his own personal standing within his family.” He glares at Nightwing. “I don’t care what you say. Ten years old is old enough to know that murder for the -- of personal gain is wrong.”

The League erupts with shouts of outrage, asking why a homicidal, potentially mentally unstable boy, is being housed with Batman. Nightwing tries once again to intercede on the boy’s behalf, and Tim rises to his feet.

“I was not Robin, I hadn't worked with Batman in months, and he had no reason to come after me,” Tim counters. “I was already living in San Francisco and publicly separated from Gotham and Batman. I was not a rival or a threat to him. He clearly has difficulty following orders as he bypassed three adults, none of which noticed or reported his absence until it was too late.”

Nightwing looks like he can’t decide rather to be chastised or furious.

Tim holds his gaze and refuses to let him look away and pretend that his mistakes didn’t help result in Tim being stabbed and almost bleeding out.

The Justice League looks between the two of them. A few of the bolder members even chance a glance at the silently fuming Batman.

The Justice League overwhelmingly sides with Red Robin.

/\/\/\

Tim and Kon return to San Francisco, exhausted and unable to decide whether they should celebrate or cry, or maybe a little bit of both. Ben is waiting for them at Titan’s Tower, hugging them both fiercely before bringing them back to their apartment. Tim passes out in the car, and Kon carries him inside when they arrive home. Tim’s eyes snap open and he tenses the moment Kon’s arms slide around him, but the moment he sees who's holding him, he relaxes and easily drifts back to sleep.

Ben directs Kon to the couch, where he covers the two of them with Tim’s favorite fuzzy blanket. They don’t wake up until the pizza man arrives and the smell of cheese and grease hits their noses. The three of them settle down in the living room, old movies playing in the background as the leftover pizza cools on the counter.

Ben eventually leaves them, heading to his own room to turn in for the night, though not before he looks at the two boys, the boy he considers his son and loves like his own, who has been through so much and is somehow still so good. He presses one last kiss to the top of Tim’s hair before disappearing down the hall.

Tim wakes up some time later, Kon snoring on his shoulder as the tv replays the movie’s menu over and over again. He carefully extracts himself from Kon’s hold, smiling at the boy as he does, something warm and pleasant fluttering in his chest.

Still, the cold anxiety and the memory of the meeting with the League, the brief verbal sparring between him and Batman and Nightwing is fresh in his mind, tugging at the comfort he finds in his own home in an attempt to tear it apart. Tim crosses his arms and scowls.

Without thinking, he wanders to his room, opening his window and heaving himself out into the night. The air is nearly frigid, and Tim shivers in his sweatpants and hoodie, wishing that he at least remembers to put on his socks.

He pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs as he curls into a ball and looks out to the skyline of San Francisco. Something in him, something primal and childish and awful, missed Gotham. Misses the dirty streets and mysteries waiting to be solved, an adventure waiting, whether it be with a camera in his hands or a Batarang held between his fingers. He wonders if Gotham will ever truly let him go. Tim’s not sure he wants an answer.

Tim doesn’t miss the quiet padding of footsteps, just loud enough that he knows he’s being allowed to hear someone coming. He watches Dick Grayson pull himself onto the apartment’s roof, sitting several feet away from Tim and not quite meeting his eyes.

“This is really a terrible habit of yours,” Tim says, flat and cynical and not at all amused.

Dick winces at the tone. “I just want to talk to you. Again.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I know that I haven’t been a good big brother to you ever since…” He swallows. “I really am sorry, Tim. I want to apologize and explain, and I want you to understand, but I also just want to be here with you.”

Tim stares at him from under half-lidded eyes. He pulls his legs closer to his chest, tucking his chin into his knees and hiding his hands in the sleeves of his hoodie. “Do I really have a choice?”

“Yes,” Dick says, wincing. “If you want me to go, I’ll leave, but please Tim, just talk to me.”

Tim scowls at him. “Haven’t we gone over this enough already? I don’t think there’s really anything to talk about.”

“I’m really sorry, Tim,” Dick says again. “I didn’t have all the information, and I jumped to conclusions. I shouldn’t have broken into your home like that--both in New York and when Jason was here before--but I was really just worried about you.”

“Worried enough to neglect to tell me that Mini Bruce might take after daddy and try to off me? Funny, considering the fact that the brother you did think to warn me about is the only one who gives a shit about me.”

Dick glares at him. “I do care, despite what you think. I didn’t tell you about Damian because no one else knows about him. We’ve kept it on the down-low. Not even Jason knew, and he was stalking us.”

Tim tries not to recoil at the cold anger in Dick’s voice. Annoyance may be a better word, and Tim can admit he’s a little stuck on the whole ‘people are out to get me’ thing, but what’s a little healthy, justified paranoia. Tim tries to ignore the twinge he feels in his chest despite his best efforts to squash anything reminding him of the bats.

“What do you want, Dick?”

“I want to be your brother.”

Tim looks at him doubtfully.

“I know I’ve been shitty to you ever since the penthouse, but there was just so many things going on--

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Damnit, Tim!” Dick snaps. “I know that you know that. You were in the middle of it. But I wasn’t. I was an outsider looking in with nothing to go off of except rumors. I was undercover when everything went down the first time, and I come back and everything has blown up. Bruce is basically our dad, and now he’s been charged with war crimes? I mean… it’s just a lot…”

Tim deflates, slumping into himself as his fingers and toes go completely numb. “I get it, Dick, I do. I don’t like it. I wish it would have happened differently. But it didn’t, and now we have to deal with that.”

“I know, and I’m so, so sorry. I want to be part of your life, Tim. You’re my brother. I just… I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know either, Dick,” Tim admits. “I have too much other shit going on right now, and if you want to be my brother, you’re going to have to act like it.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I do,” Dick assures him. “Trust me, Tim, please. I’ll try and be better. If something happens, I’ll call you. I’ll call you just to see how you’re doing. I just want to be there for you.”

Tim looks away, tilting his head back and looking up at the sky, too clouded with pollution to see any stars. It reminds him of Gotham. “We’ll… see how it goes, okay? That’s all I’ve got for you right now.”

Dick lets out a relieved breath. “Okay.”

Tim doesn’t look at him, and by the time he looks away from the sky, Dick’s gone. He stares at where he was mere moments before, something like hope brewing in his belly, mixed with caution and worry. He tries to focus on the positive for once in his life.

“You can come out now,” he calls.

Jason’s head pops up from the other side of the roof, where he was eavesdropping from the open window of his bedroom. He jumps onto the roof with little effort, standing behind Tim with a frown.

“You’re an idiot.”

Tim shrugs. “So you’ve said before.”

Jason huffs. “At least put on socks the next time you’re going to have a heart-to-heart with someone on the roof at two in the morning in February.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Jason sighs and drops down next to him. He looks at him from the corner of his eye. “You good, little Red?”

Tim looks back to the sky, listens to the distant crash of the waves on the bay. He breathes, chest expanding, lungs burning. Hope bleeding through the pit in his stomach.

“I will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of it. It's been a wild ride, and I'm really happy you guys asked for part two, then part three. Of course, I was the idiot that then had to make a part four because part three was only 3 out of 11pages worth of notes in my outline.
> 
> Stay safe and healthy as COVID-19 and the new school year come upon us.
> 
> I love you all, and if you ever want to chat or ask questions (because this is very sloppy and I left a lot of things hanging... oopsie), find me on Tumblr at hey-its-lyn I will always be happy to talk or scream at random things :)


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